


Twine

by CrunchyWrites



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, demon!Molly, smut in a separate chapter, witch!Caleb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-09-06 05:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 171,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16826527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrunchyWrites/pseuds/CrunchyWrites
Summary: Demon summoning, even for witches, is a careful, intentional process. It needs the right ingredients, the right sigils, and the right intent. It doesn’t happen by accident. It especially doesn’t happen by accident when you’re Caleb Widogast, who never does anything without double-checking every spell component first.Except, of course, the time that it does.





	1. Chapter 1

Caleb Widogast summons the wrong demon at 23 minutes past nine on a bright Saturday morning when his cat, Frumpkin, jumps down from the dining table, walks across Caleb’s summoning circle, and smudges one small, but very important, chalk line out of existence. The circle fizzles for a moment, flashing gold and orange and blue for the space of a breath, and when Frumpkin finally leaves it lets out a gust of quiet arcane energy, and sets about slowly readjusting itself.

Caleb sees none of this.

Caleb doesn’t see as the planar link between the Material Plane and the Nine Hells tilts slightly. Caleb doesn’t see as the channel that he set up, ready to siphon through one demon for a limited amount of time, finds that its end address has been abruptly changed, and shifts to accommodate. Caleb doesn’t see as the channel realises that the circle containing it in the Material Plane holds inside it everything that it needs to summon this new demon, and a few things besides.

Caleb doesn’t see as his magic, pressed in alongside the chalk, and crystals, and tiny vial of steak blood that _technically_ counts as a sacrifice, decides to open the connection.

Caleb doesn’t see as a standard, mid-tier demon is abruptly pulled out of his home in the Nine Hells and into the middle of Caleb’s dining room.

And Caleb doesn’t see any of this because he’s in the kitchen, impatiently poking the kettle with his magic in an attempt to get it to boil quicker, which means that when he returns to the dining room to see a very purple, very ornate, very _naked_ demon sprawled in the middle of his summoning circle, the first thing he does is scream loudly, drop his mug of tea, and splash scalding hot water all over his legs.

\---

It’s probably a good thing, Caleb thinks as he finishes sweeping the shattered porcelain into the bin, that prestidigitation is a simple enough spell to cast. It hadn’t been enough to vanish _every_ shard of broken mug away to some other plane of existence – more’s the pity – but it had cleaned up the spilled liquid and it had kept Caleb busy as the demon, still trapped within the confines of the salt circle, had laughed itself silly.

It’s still laughing now, its split tail making the tarpaulin beneath it rustle with every amused twitch. Caleb frowns to himself, feeling the tips of his ears turning red with embarrassment as he dusts his hands off and straightens up, satisfied that no one’s going to find themselves stabbed through the foot with porcelain any time soon. He hadn’t _meant_ to drop his second-favourite mug! He’d just been caught off-guard, as he’s sure anyone would be when returning from their kitchen to their dining room to find a tattooed, purple _demon_ lying face-down in the middle of their summoning circle when they _hadn’t even started the summoning_. He’d dropped his mug, and soaked his jeans, and had let out what even he would admit was a somewhat undignified scream, and there’s _still_ a demon sitting in his dining room and laughing like its just seen the funniest thing in this plane of existence.

All in all, it’s not shaping up to be a good day.

Caleb sighs, lifting a hand to press it against his face for a moment. The demon’s laughter seems to be fading, reducing from guffaws to chuckles to tiny, barely-audible giggles.

“Gods,” Caleb mutters to himself. “ _Gods_.” He can still feel the heat in his ears and knows that his face must be a similar shade of combined embarrassment, mortification, and frustration. This was not how his morning was meant to go.

Caleb takes another second to breathe, listening as the demon finally seems to laugh itself out. It’s only when the demon finally falls silent, giving a long, quiet sigh that Caleb can hear all too clearly in the silence of the house, that he finally drops his hand, mentally shakes himself, and walks back into the dining room.

Only to be immediately greeted by a reminder of exactly what state the demon had been in upon its arrival.

Right. That.

Caleb should probably do something about that.

“Um,” he says. The demon, who’d been absently gazing at the artwork adorning the walls, spins around at the sound of Caleb’s voice. Caleb tries his very best not to stare.

Caleb fails.

“Do you, um,” he starts again, feeling himself blushing harder. He tries not to look at the demon’s… bits. That’s rude, and impolite, and he was raised better than that. Caleb swallows, feeling the weight of the demon’s amused gaze on him as he pulls his gaze towards the demon’s face instead.

The demon smirks at him.

Caleb doesn’t like that, but he supposes it’s better than having it talk. He’s honestly not sure what he would do if the demon decided to comment on the current situation. He’d combust, probably. Or flee. Or throw his hands up, declare himself done with magic forever, and leave the city to become a hermit in the woods forever which, right now, honestly sounds incredibly tempting. How hard can it be to be a hermit, after all? Beau calls him a hermit all the time and he leaves the house very nearly every single day. Surely he’s at least half-way qualified for hermit-dom.

He can’t be a hermit today, though. Today he’s got to greet this demon, and send it back, and then do everything else that he was meant to do. He clears his throat, still flushing, and pulls his gaze away entirely from the demon’s smirk, staring instead at the far wall of the dining room. The wall is safe. The wall isn’t purple, and covered in tattoos, and _naked_.

“Do you- would you like something to, ah, cover up?” he asks weakly. Staring directly ahead like this makes most of the demon’s body blur together into a vague blob of purple, distinguished only by the bright swirls of colour that twist across its skin. It feels a little bit rude, actually; normally Caleb takes every care to be as polite as possible with his summons, making sure that they are comfortable for the time that he calls them to this plane, and a lot of the time that means forcing his way past his natural dislike of eye contact and doing his very best to make his gaze meet theirs. This can be tricky sometimes, when the demon has extra eyes, or eyes in strange places, or no eyes at all, but Caleb tries anyway.

He’s not trying right now. Right now, he’s doing his absolute best to look as close to the demon as possible without _actually_ having to look at it. It’s not even nine-thirty in the morning – there are some things he just isn’t ready to deal with when the tea that he _was_ going to drink is still drying in patches on his jeans.

But even staring at the far wall, he can still see the demon’s wide grin.

“Oh,” it says easily, “I don’t mind.”

_No_ , Caleb thinks, _but I might_.

“I do not wish for you to be uncomfortable,” he manages to say instead. He shifts his gaze slightly, making contact with one warm red eye. There’s a line of gold brushed into place along the lid, shimmering and sparkling in the soft morning sunlight, and just below the eye there’s another one. And then another, even lower down the cheek. Caleb frowns a little, temporarily distracted by this strange placement of make-up, but he doesn’t question it. This is a demon, after all – he knows from experience just how… unexpected they can be.

The demon gives a small laugh. “Oh, I won’t be,” it assures him. Behind it its tail sways back and forth in relaxed, lazy sweeps, hindered only by the outline of the circle – it cannot pass above the line of salt neatly marked out around it and so instead it gives the occasional impression that it is pressing up against some invisible barrier. It makes Caleb feel a bit bad, knowing that he’s preventing the demon from being as comfortable inside the circle as it could be – he hates being cramped, and imagines that it must feel similar for the demon – but everything that he’d read had told him that the demon he had been summoning was tailless, and so he’d arranged the circle and its contents accordingly.

But then again, everything he’d read had _also_ told him that he would have to perform the ritual himself. There’d been no note in any of his books to warn him of an _accidental summoning_.

There’d also been no warning that said summoning would arrive _nude_.

Thankfully, the demon seems to sense Caleb’s discomfort; after a few awkward moment Caleb watches its wide grin reduce in size to a somewhat more understanding smile. “Hey,” it says easily, its voice soft and gentle like its trying to calm him somewhat. “It’s alright. Seriously. I don’t care. Don’t worry about it, Mr…?”

“Oh, I’m Caleb,” Caleb says. He doesn’t tell the demon his surname. Even now he feels uncomfortable giving it out to his fellow witches, and wizards, and mages, and warlocks; there is power in a name, born of old magic and old truths, and while Caleb is well aware that the vast majority of demons are much closer to the people of this plane than most would think, he has still heard too many horror stories to ever dream of giving away something as precious as his name.

Let alone this name – the name he chose for himself. That name is far, far too dear for him to ever risk losing.

Before him, the demon smiles.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Caleb,” it says. Its voice is soft, warm and rough like half-crystallised honey spun through with smoke. There is an accent to it that Caleb can’t find a material plane equivalent to - a subtle lilt and tone to the words that somehow still speaks of a hellish origin. It’s- well, all things considered, it’s surprisingly pleasant. “I’m Mollymauk Tealeaf,” it continues, bowing with a flourish.

_Tealeaf_ , Caleb thinks. That sounds… hopeful.

“I don’t suppose you are a, ah, gardening demon, Mollymauk Tealeaf?” he asks weakly, doing his best not to stare when Mollymauk straightens up out of its bow.

“Not a chance in hell,” Mollymauk replies cheerfully.

Caleb frowns. “But you came from hell,” he points out, “So are you saying that there _is_ a chance?”

There’s a long, drawn-out pause.

Caleb feels that he may have misunderstood something.

And then the demon bursts into laughter, practically doubling over, and Caleb’s feeling turns into a certainty.

“I mean,” he says, crossing his arms as the demon continues to laugh, “You are a demon, _ja_? So you must come from one of the Nine Hells.”

“Th-third,” Mollymauk manages to get out, slowly straightening up again. It wipes away a tear from its eye, still giggling to itself. “I’m from the Third of the Nine Hells, love. And I can promise you – I’m many things, but a _gardening_ demon is not among them.”

“Oh,” Caleb replies quietly. He can feel his heart start to sink, worry and concern twisting along his nerves. He’d known that something wasn’t right when he’d returned to the dining room to find a demon already present, the summoning not even _initiated_ , but this is… this is bad. This is worse than bad. This is awful. Because somehow, despite all his care and all his planning, Caleb has managed to summon the _wrong fucking demon_.

That doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen in general, and it _definitely_ doesn’t happen to him – Caleb is practically a wizard in how careful and precise he is in laying out his spell components, for all that he is a witch-caster at heart. He is exact, and a little bit obsessive, and he never does anything until he’s completely prepared for it. He researches everything as much as he possibly can in advance – he’d spent weeks going through books and notes and trawling the internet to find the _exact_ demon who could help him with a commission for a client. He’d found their preferences, and figured out exactly what to pay them with (a magpie skull, an orange and ginger candle, and a small plastic container of coffee-flavoured cookies), and he’d set everything up absolutely perfectly. There’s no mistake in his circle that he knows of. He’s Caleb Widogast, after all. Very few members of the magical community know his true name instead of the name that he dons for clients, but they know his reputation nonetheless; Caleb Widogast does not make mistakes. Caleb Widogast does not do anything unintentionally. Caleb Widogast can summon and talk with even the trickiest of demons and have them return to the Hells contented.

Caleb Widogast does not scratch his cat under the chin, go to boil the kettle, and then summon the wrong demon _accidentally_. That doesn’t happen in general, and it especially doesn’t happen to him. Gods, what will happen to him if news of this gets out? He has a reputation to uphold after all, and he has clients to complete jobs for, and if they were to find out that he can’t even summon a _demon_ properly then- then… well, he hardly even dares to think about what will happen.

Before him, the demon is still speaking.

“I do know an excellent guy, though,” Mollymauk continues blithely, deaf to Caleb’s inner panic. “Name’s Caduceus Clay; he’s a much more nature-based demon than I am. He’d definitely be able to help you out with any gardening stuff that you may need.”

Caleb swallows, trying to calm the panic squeezing at his lungs. “Do you, ah… do you think Mr. Clay would be amenable to helping me? You were, um… you were not quite my intended summon…”

Mollymauk grins. “Oh, I gathered that. Not to worry, though – you just send me back and I’ll drop in and see Caduceus. I’m sure he’d be happy to help you out. He’s a very, ah, _relaxed_ individual. Likes his plants.”

“Good,” Caleb mutters. “That is- that’s good.”

“I could pop in and see him once I get back, if you’d like. Give him some warning that you’re going to be summoning him at some point?”

That sounds… that sounds pretty good, actually. Caleb’s never had a demon offer to do that for him, but then again he’s never summoned the wrong demon before, either. “ _Bitte_ ,” he says, smiling weakly. Mollymauk smiles back at him.

“I have no idea what ‘bitter’ means,” it says cheerfully.

Oh. Right. “It means ‘please’.”

“’Bitter’ means ‘please’. Got it. _ᚱᚾ_ _ᗑ_ _ᚱ_ _'_ _ᖨᗇ_ _,_ Caleb,” Molly replies, sounding perhaps just a little bit smug. Caleb blinks.

“ _Was_?”

“You’re welcome,” the demon translates. Caleb blinks again. He’s pretty certain there were a few sounds that in that that the human mouth couldn’t even attempt to make. “A word for a word. It seems fair to me.”

“…Right,” Caleb says slowly. He half turns, making a small motion towards the kitchen. He should do… something. Something other than panicking. Something more along the lines of calming down so that he can gather himself enough to send this demon back so that Beauregard doesn’t come home to find him halfway to a panic attack, _again_. “I am, uh, I am going to- I am-“

Mollymauk waves a hand, already moving to sit down inside the circle. “Go do whatever you need to do,” it says, the tarpaulin crinkling beneath it as it coils its tail neatly around its legs. “I’ll just sit here.”

Caleb nods. “Okay,” he says to himself, starting to move towards the kitchen. “Okay, alright…” He can do this. He can calm down. He can sort this out. This is just a- a _hiccup,_ that’s all. He somehow managed to summon the wrong demon, but that’s fine. He’ll just send it back, like he’s sent back every demon that he’s ever summoned. Nothing to it. He’s a witch, after all – unlike wizards, who need the exact right sequence of words and intonations for every summon and banishment that they perform, Caleb merely needs roughly the right ingredients and the correct intent. He may not have intended to bring this demon here, but he sure as hell intends to send him back. He’s got the intent, and he _should_ have the items that he needs floating around in the cupboards somewhere – he knows exactly what they all are, his perfect memory keeping the list clear and visible in his head. It just remains to see if he has them in the house.

Apart from intent and ingredients, though, there’s just one last essential for a Widogast demon banishment.

He’s going to need another mug of tea.

Caleb nods to himself, his plan settled on. He’s going to go back to the kitchen, and make himself a mug of tea, and maybe grab Mollymauk a tea towel to cover up it’s… well. To cover it up. And then he’s going to find everything that he needs, and double-check his book, and send this demon back to the Nine Hells, and finally summon the right one in its place.

… He should probably stop calling it ‘it’, too.

Caleb turns around suddenly, stopping in the open archway between dining room and kitchen. “Um,” he says, hoping that his voice is loud enough to carry. “Mollymauk?”

Mollymauk glances up, the small chains on its horns jingling quietly. “Yeah?”

“What, ah, what- which pronouns would you prefer that I use? For you?” It’s a question that Caleb normally likes to ask _before_ they exchange names – much like offering his summons a drink, he feels that asking their pronouns is only polite. He knows all too well what it’s like to have people assume.

For a brief moment, Mollymauk looks completely caught off-guard. Its eyes widen slightly, glowing like embers in the warm sunlight painted across its skin, but then the moment passes, and the smile returns. “Any you’d care for, love,” it says easily. “I’m not particularly picky.”

Unfortunately for Mollymauk, that’s possibly about the worst answer Caleb could hear. He’s terrible at making decisions and he knows it, and he’s even worse when there’s the chance of potentially upsetting someone. He knows that Mollymauk literally just told him that he can use any pronouns at all for it, but what if he uses a set that Mollymauk doesn’t actually like? What then? What if he upsets the demon that _he_ summoned to _his_ home?

Mollymauk seems to recognise Caleb’s inner panic – after a moment it gives a small sigh, its smile softening. “How about we just go with he/him for now, hm?”

Caleb can deal with that. Caleb can definitely deal with that. “He/him sounds good to me, _ja_ ,” he replies faintly and watches as the demon flicks its- _his_ \- tail.

“Excellent,” Mollymauk replies. “And if I happen to feel like changing them while I’m here, I’ll let you know. How does that sound?”

“That sounds- it sounds good.”

“Marvellous.” Mollymauk grins, wide and delighted, before leaning back on one hand, lifting the other to shoo Caleb towards the kitchen. “Now run off and do whatever it is that you were going to do. Getting the things you need to send me back, I hope.”

“Oh, _ja_ ,” Caleb says, nodding. “That was, ah, that was the plan.”

“Glad to hear it. Hop along.”

Caleb does exactly that. He doesn’t exactly flee to the kitchen but he does move swiftly, stepping through the open archway to the little room and immediately crossing to the kettle. He fills it up and sets it to boil before grabbing a mug off the shelf and dropping a teabag into it, leaving the kettle boiling in the background as he moves over to a small cupboard in the corner of the room. A bright yellow post-it stuck to it reads ‘pantry of holding :)’. Caleb glowers at the smiley face. It’s stupid, but it feels a little like it’s mocking him, being so bright and cheerful when he’s so confused and stressed.

He flicks it gently where its forehead would be and then opens the cupboard. He sticks his hand inside, shivering a little at the touch of air that’s just a few degrees cooler than it really should be, and tries to calm himself. He just needs to collect these ingredients, put them back in the circle, and try again. This is going to be fine.

_This is going to be fine_.

Caleb clears his throat. _Yew berries_ , he thinks. There’s a soft hum from within the darkness of the cupboard and a moment later he feels the cool touch of glass against his palm. He closes his hand, pulling out the small jar of berries, and sets it on the countertop before putting his hand back inside the pantry. In quick order he removes the other required ingredients from the pantry of holding and soon they sit in a neat row on the countertop, waiting to be used. It’s the work of a moment for him to count out the exact amounts and pour them into a tub, and the methodical nature of it helps soothe him further. This is something he’s done a hundred times before. This is something he knows how to do, something he knows he _can_ do.

He can banish demons, and he can definitely banish this one.

Caleb gives a quiet sigh as he finishes counting. For a moment he stands in silence, shutting his eyes and calling the image of the scruffy notes in his witch-tome to the front of his mind. _This is going to be fine,_ he tells himself again. _This is just one mistake. You can fix this easily_. So what if it should be impossible to summon the wrong demon by accident? He’s a witch; he deals with actual, _literal_ magic. This is just a hiccup, that’s all. It’s a new part of magic that no one else has discovered yet. It’s a _breakthrough_.

With that thought in mind, Caleb returns to his tea. He pours the now-boiled water into his mug, quickly brewing the drink before grabbing a tea towel off the counter. With his tea in one hand, the tea towel in the other, and the tub safely tucked under his armpit, he returns to the dining room.

In his absence Mollymauk has made himself comfortable amid the cushions that Caleb had placed inside the circle prior to summoning him. Not all demons are able to use conventional chairs, but Caleb’s found that most of them appreciate a comfortable cushion, even if they are all decorated in a set of novelty cat cushion covers that Beau bought him when she first moved in with him and Nott. Mollymauk glances up when Caleb enters the room; his gaze quickly catches on the tea towel, and Caleb watches understanding dawn in a smirk across his face when he hands it to him. Mollymauk is quick to shake it out and place it over his lap, though, much to Caleb’s relief.

“Thank you, Caleb,” Mollymauk says politely, smoothing his claws over the elephant-patterned fabric.

Caleb shrugs awkwardly. He doesn’t look at the demon as he crossed to the book open on the dining table, dropping the small tub of ritual ingredients onto the smooth, polished wood. “Don’t worry about it,” he mutters, eyes already starting to skim the page. He knows that he hasn’t missed any ingredients but it’s always good to double-check, and after a quick read he nods to himself, straightening up and moving to the chalked summoning circle. He can feel the weight of Mollymauk’s ruby eyes on him as he drops ingredients into their positions, but he doesn’t look up at him. This is weird enough as it is. Caleb just wants to get this over and done with now, and then he wants to sit down, and finish his tea, and maybe watch an episode of some trashy early-morning weekend TV show to calm himself before he tries summoning a demon again.

Within a few minutes, the circle is complete again. Caleb stands upright, brushing chalk dust off against his jeans as he calls forth a touch of fire to light the candles scattered around the circle’s perimeter. From within the circle, Mollymauk watches on with a curious look.

“Is this all you need?” he asks.

“Oh, _ja_ ,” Caleb replies. He walks to the front of the circle, gaze scanning over it for anything he might have missed. “I am a witch, Mollymauk, not a wizard.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Absolutely.” There’s no point in explaining it, Caleb feels; at this point that would just be a waste of time. He nods to himself, content that the circle has been set out exactly as needed, and looks back at Mollymauk.

Mollymauk smiles. “I suppose this is goodbye?”

Caleb catches himself smiling a little. He feels better now, with the circle in place and his magic chasing along his nerves. He can fix this. This will be fine. “It is,” he says. “I apologise for accidentally summoning you, Mollymauk.”

Mollymauk waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he says easily. “I’m sure it happens all the time. Thank you for having me, Caleb. You were a delightful host. I’ll be sure to tell Caduceus to expect a summoning.”

“Thank you,” Caleb says. And then, all pleasantries appropriately exchanged, he takes a deep, calming breath, and calls his magic to his skin. He rubs his hands together, feeling the magic starting to gather between his palms. It crackles like static against his skin, sparking beneath his blood and making his fingers want to twitch with the sheer potential of it. His magic is as familiar to him as it always has been; it is his oldest friend, his truest companion. His magic has existed within his blood for his entire life. Caleb knows how to wield his magic. He knows how to use it.

He knows how to send this unexpected demon back to the Nine Hells.

Caleb reaches out, sinks his magic into the crystals, and the required ingredients, and the meticulously chalked symbols and sigils surrounding Mollymauk, and he _tugs_.

At the end of his magic, at the whisper-fine veil between this plane and the hells, he feels his magic catch.

Caleb twists his hands, the action of re-opening a gateway so familiar to him now that he could do it in his sleep. He feels his magic rise within him, knows that his eyes are turning orange and gold with it, and seeks for the gap between the threads of the world that he needs to open a careful little tear back into the Nine Hells.

He finds one.

He thinks.

It’s definitely there, but something about it feels off – warped, like he’s looking at it through a sheet of water. Like there’s something _missing._ But there isn’t. Caleb knows that there isn’t. He knows that he’s got everything in place, and that his intent is certain, and this is absolutely, certainly, definitely going to work.

Caleb reaches out, ties his magic back into the components encircling Mollymauk, and _pushes_.

For a moment, the world seems to shift around him.

There’s a terrible flash of dark, amber magic, a sound like thunder contained within a bell jar, and a smell like the remnants of a storm.

_It worked,_ Caleb thinks, and he opens his eyes.

Directly before him stands Mollymauk, tea towel held in place with one clawed hand, his eyes shining ruby-red in the morning sunlight.

Caleb feels his stomach grow cold.

“…So,” Mollymauk says after a few long, silent seconds. “I’m going to assume that was a bust.”

\---

Caleb, to his credit, manages not to freak out immediately. He politely excuses himself, steps back from the circle, turns around, and leaves to sit with his back against a wall in the hallway, his head resting against his knees.

It’s only then that he allows himself to freak out.

He freaks out quietly for a good ten minutes or so, digging little crescent marks into the palms of his hands with his nails. He doesn’t know how this happened, and he doesn’t know why his magic didn’t work, and he doesn’t know why the demon is still sitting on the floor of his dining room. This was meant to be an easy summon! This was meant to be a simple task that he could get over and done with bright and early so that he could get on with his day! This was _not_ meant to leave him feeling like his magic has, suddenly and inexplicably, stopped working.

Caleb squeezes his eyes shut. This is okay. This is going to be okay. He can fix this, somehow. He can’t be the first witch to summon the wrong demon and then not be able to send it back. He _can’t_ be. There’s got to be some tale, somewhere, of a witch who fucked up worse than he did.

_This is going to be fine_.

Maybe if he says it enough time it’ll become true.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself after a few more mental repetitions. “Okay.” He takes a breath and slowly pushes himself upright, wiping his hands on his jeans before heading back into the dining room. Mollymauk watches him as he enters, his tail still twitching back and forth, and Caleb just about manages to muster a weak smile as he crosses to the dining room table where his phone still sits next to his book.

He might not know exactly what to do, but he knows someone who can help.

Caleb grabs his phone off the table, gives Mollymauk one last glance, and then does what he really should have done when he first saw Mollymauk sprawled in his dining room, and calls Jester.

He dials her number with fingers that are definitely _not_ shaking, presses his phone to his ear, and waits. Thankfully, it doesn’t take very long for her to pick up.

“ _Hello?”_ asks an accented voice, drawing out the vowels.

_Oh, thank God_. “ _Jester_ ,” Caleb hisses into the phone, “I need your help.”

There’s a gasp on the other end of the line.

“ _Oooooh_ ,” Jester says, “ _With what? Is it girl trouble? Is it_ boy _trouble? Is it-“_

“It is none of that,” Caleb says quickly, turning away from the circle when Mollymauk, still sitting cross-legged inside the salt perimeter with only a tea towel to protect his modesty, pricks his ears up at the noises coming from Caleb’s phone.

“Who are you talking to?” he asks. Caleb moves to cover his phone, not sure if Mollymauk was speaking loudly enough for Jester to hear, but it soon becomes apparent that he was too late.

Jester gasps again. “ _Caleb!_ ” she says. “ _I heard that! That was a_ boy _, wasn’t it? Do you have_ company _?”_

Caleb can hear the eyebrow wiggle that he _knows_ is going on at the other end of the line. He sighs loudly, lifting a hand to press it against his forehead as he shuts his eyes.

“Yes, I have company,” he mutters. Jester squeals.

“ _Caleb!_ ”

“It is not- it is not that kind of company. I need to get rid of him.”

“ _Bad one-night stand? I get it, we’ve all been there, but I would never have expected this from you, Caleb. Still, no judgement._ ” She clears her throat. “ _Okay, what you want to do is-_ ”

“This is- this is not a one-night stand, Jester!” Caleb says, finally picking his jaw up off the floor. “This is a…” He glances back over his shoulder. Mollymauk lifts a hand and dabbles his fingers in a wave. Caleb turns back to the wall. “This is a _demon_ ,” he hisses into the phone.

“ _Look, Caleb, I know men are garbage, but-_ ”

“No, Jester, this is a literal demon. This is an actual, real demon, and he is sitting in my dining room with _no clothes on_.”

There’s a long pause.

“… _Did you summon him_?” Jester asks eventually.

“ _Yes_.”

“ _Did you deliberately summon him with no clothes on? Because there are demons for that, Caleb, if you want to have a good time-_ ”

“I summoned him to help me with my plants,” Caleb says in a rush. “He was- he was supposed to be a, a _gardening_ demon, you know? That encourages ivy, and wolfsbane, and all those sorts of plants to grow. I needed some for a potion.”

“ _So what went wrong? You’re normally super good at summoning – Fjord said you helped him set up a meeting with his patron just last week_.”

“I don’t know what went wrong!” Caleb hisses into the phone. “I- it should all have been fine, I triple checked my circle, and my sigils, and I charged my crystals a month ago, and then I went to make tea because it is always polite to greet a demon with tea, and when I came back _he_ was here!”

“ _You greet your summoned demons with tea?”_

“Yes, it is polite, and it tends to make them less antsy. But as I was saying-”

“ _What kind of tea? My summons are always super annoyed, I might have to try that. Is it chamomile? Do you have a special demon-tea?”_

“It’s a blend my Mutti used to make me-”

“ _Can you get me the recipe_?”

“Yes, I can get you the recipe, but that is not the point of this phone-call, Jester!”

There’s a sigh on the other end of the line, the connection turning it into a rush of static. “ _Fine_. _Then why are you calling me?_ And especially this early in the day, Caleb. I mean, it is _the weekend, you should be relaxing_.”

“I am calling you,” Caleb says, trying desperately to stay calm, “because I cannot get rid of him.”

There’s a pause. When Jester replies Caleb can practically hear her confused frown. “ _But you’re, like,_ really _good at that_.”

“I do what everyone else can do-”

“ _Just accept the compliment, Caleb_.”

Caleb glowers. “… Fine.”

“ _And calm down_.”

“I _am_ calm.”

“ _No, you’re not! You’re doing that thing where you pretend to be all chill and super cool, but actually you’re freaking out inside! And it’s not good for you, Caleb.”_

“I’m not freaking out.” He is.

“ _You are_!”

Caleb groans. “ _Jester_. Will you help me or not?”

Jester sighs again. “ _Fine. Take a deep breath for me first.”_

“…Do I have to?”

“ _Yes_.” There’s no room for argument in Jester’s voice, and so Caleb complies. “ _Good. Now take another one.”_ Caleb does. “ _And another_.” Slowly, Jester walks him through levelling out his breathing, until Caleb feels noticeably less twitchy. “ _Feel better_?”

“… Maybe.”

Caleb can’t see Jester’s smile but he knows that it’s there. “ _Good,”_ she says. “ _Now, go grab your witch-tome, and lets see if we can’t send this demon back_.”

\---

Mollymauk Tealeaf sits inside the circle of salt, idly trailing his claws over the tea towel that’s draped across his lap as he continues to listen in on the phone call that Caleb is having with someone that he’s been referring to as _Jester_. He’s been speaking to this person for a good ten minutes now, occasionally thumbing through a large, heavily annotated book that he’s got laid open on the dining table, and Molly is _bored_. He’s clearly not meant to be here. The tea that Caleb, still talking into his phone, gave him five minutes ago is nice, yes, but they’ve already established that Molly isn’t the demon that Caleb wanted to summon. Caleb wanted Caduceus, or at the very least a demon with Caduceus’ skill set. Molly doesn’t have that skill set. He knows that, and Caleb knows that, and yet for some reason he’s still here, sitting on a chalk-covered tarpaulin sheet in the middle of this human’s dining room with absolutely _nothing_ to do.

He doesn’t have left-over summoning-tingles now, but that’s about all he can say. Summoning is always an unpleasant experience, typically leaving him feeling like he’s just dunked his head in ice water and then sprinkled salt on his brain, but the feeling had left within about fifteen minutes, and it had taken the novelty of the situation with it. He’s not meant to be here, and he should be home by now. He should be home, in his bath, relaxing amongst the bubbles, but instead he’s here, listening as some scruffy witch has an urgent conversation about how he accidentally summoned Molly.

Molly lifts his mug of tea to his lips, narrowing his one visible pair of eyes as he peers at the sigils chalked onto the tarpaulin that he’s sitting on. They certainly _look_ like they spell his name - there’s a few extra embellishments, sure, and a couple of symbols that really don’t need to be there to summon him, but everything that is necessary to pull him away from his nice, relaxing bath and into this man's house is definitely there. There’s his name, and his summoning statement, and he can see a now-empty vial that he assumes once held the blood the ritual required, and there’s even the scent of lavender still hanging faintly in the air beneath the crackly ozone smell of witch-magic. _Everything_ needed to summon him has been laid out, set up and ready for his arrival.

It just seems that Caleb, for some baffling reason, hasn’t realised that. It just seems that Caleb, somehow, actually did manage to summon the wrong demon _by accident_.

And it also seems that, for reasons unknown, Caleb can’t figure out how to send Molly back.

Molly tilts his head back, sighing loudly and pointedly. “Caleb,” he says, hoping to catch his attention, but Caleb does little more than shoot a quick glance in his direction before going back to his book.

“I know,” he mutters into the phone, “I- yes, I _know_ , Jester, I am _looking for it_.”

“Looking for what?” Molly asks. He might as well speak up. It’s not like he has anything else to do.

“I- _ja_ , Jester, I am _aware_ , I have _tried_ that-”

“Tried _what_?”

There’s still no response from Caleb. Molly drums his nails against the warm surface of the mug, lifting it to his lips to take another sip. He’s bored, and he wants to go home, and while it is rather amusing watching and listening to Caleb grow increasingly more frantic as he flips through pages and mutters into his phone, it is also starting to get just a little bit concerning.

“Caleb,” Molly says. Caleb doesn’t glance over at him, starting to scratch down a few notes on a sheet of paper that he pulled towards him. “Caleb,” Molly calls again, louder this time. This time Caleb seems to notice; he freezes for a moment before turning around, his phone still held tightly in his hand as he lowers it to his side.

“ _Ja_?” he says cautiously.

Molly smiles. “Not that I’m not enjoying this _delightful_ tea, darling, but I was beginning to wonder when you’ll be getting round to sending me home? I had a very lovely bath set up and waiting for me, you see, and I’m dying to get back to it.”

Caleb blinks. “You- a bath?”

“Of course,” Molly replies. _And I’m going to need it after all this_. “Surely you don’t think that I wander around nude for fun?” He does, admittedly, but Caleb’s already starting to flush a delightful pink colour, his bright blue gaze dropping briefly down to the tea towel on Molly’s lap, and Molly rather feels that admitting that he does actually enjoy lounging around his home naked might just make Caleb’s pretty face combust.

“I-” Caleb begins, and Molly delights at the slight stammer in his voice. “I, um, ah, I don’t- I wouldn’t- I try not to, um, presume anything about my, uh, my summons, Mr. Tealeaf.”

“Call me Molly, please,” Molly replies. He contemplates standing but quickly remembers the tea towel resting in his lap - Caleb may not have combusted from sheer embarrassment _quite_ yet but he’s certainly looking close to it. And seeing how he’s really Molly’s only ticket out of here, having him quite literally go up in flames really wouldn’t end well for either of them. “But as I was saying – when will you be able to send me back? It’s probably cold by now.”

“Oh!” Caleb says. “Oh, um, about that…”

Molly narrows his eyes. That doesn’t sound good. “What?”

“I, ah-” There’s a sudden squawk of static from Caleb’s phone, cutting off whatever he was about to say, and he quickly lifts it, pressing it back against his ear. “ _Ja_?” he asks. “Yes, no, sorry, Jester. I am- yes- okay, I will try that. _Ja_. Thank you.” A pause. “I know.” Another pause. “ _Ja_ , I know. I love you too. I will see you this afternoon. Thank you. Goodbye.” Caleb slips his phone into his pocket, lifting a hand to quickly rub at his forehead.

Molly raises an eyebrow. “Was that your girlfriend?” he asks.

Caleb gives a short laugh and drops his hand. “Oh, _nein_ ,” he replies, “just a friend. A very dear friend.” His gaze shifts, moving to the circle encasing Molly. “A very dear friend who just gave me a few suggestions on how to dismiss you. Do you mind if I…?”

“Please,” Molly says, waving a hand, “go right ahead.”

Caleb grabs something off the table, steps forwards, and starts pacing around the circle. He pauses a few times, moving items from place to place and muttering to himself quietly. Molly doesn’t understand any of it but he watches all the same, leaning back and observing as Caleb replaces one bowl of stuff with a another bowl of seemingly-identical stuff. After a handful of minutes Caleb seems, if not happy, at least satisfied with the situation, and he walks back to stand before Molly.

“Alright,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “This is a, uh, modified banishment circle. This should be able to send you home.”

Molly grins. Finally, some progress. “Wonderful,” he says, his tail flicking happily. “Do get on with it.”

Caleb nods to himself, already starting to gather amber-gold magic in his hands. “Goodbye, Mollymauk,” he says. “Hopefully for real this time.”

“Goodbye, Caleb,” Molly replies politely. He leans back, shuts his eyes, and waits.

There’s the same, familiar _boom_ of magic.

There’s the same taste of ozone.

There’s the same shivery-sharp rush of magic over his skin as, for the space a moment, reality twists around him.

Mollymauk opens his eyes, and does not see his now-cold bubble bath.

“Well,” Caleb says faintly, “ _fuck_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems I just can't leave modern AUs alone, doesn't it? Anyway, welcome to Twine! I have absolutely no idea how long this fic is going to be, but I can promise that the fic rating will change at some point, so do keep that in mind. If you've enjoyed this first chapter please do let me know, and thank you for reading! ^-^


	2. Chapter 2

> ***** Group Chat: gosh darn kids get off ma lawn *****
> 
> _Caleb:_ Hello everyone.  
>  _Caleb:_ I thought I would let you know that we currently have a visitor at the house.  
>  _Caleb:_ Please do not be startled by him when you get home.  
>  _Caleb:_ Also, I would appreciate it if one of you could pick up some lavender for me on your way home, as I have run out.
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ did you check the pantry??
> 
> _Caleb:_ Yes, I checked the pantry.  
>  _Caleb:_ I may have used it all.
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ lmao what  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ jesus caleb didn’t I get you lavender like two days ago  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ wtf are you doing going through all of it in that time  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ you blazing it up with aromatherapy or something
> 
> _Caleb:_ I needed it for spells and summonings.
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ I mean yeah I assumed as much but dude still  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ you doin some big summonings??

Caleb looks up from his phone. Mollymauk still sits inside the circle, absently fiddling with one of the rings on his tail as he flips lazily through the IKEA catalogue that Caleb had passed him in a desperate attempt to keep him occupied. Occasionally, Caleb thinks he can see him mouthing the names of some of the items of furniture to himself, as if trying to work out how to pronounce them; Caleb feels it would be entertaining if he weren’t so horribly stressed. As it is, though, about all he can focus on is his witch-tome open in front of him, the heavy smells of lavender and ozone in the air, and the twisted stubs of candles worn down from countless attempts at banishing.

He looks down at his phone.

> _Caleb:_ You could say that.
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ is the client at the house???  
>  _nasty crime goblin:_ you never let us meet them
> 
> _Caleb:_ Ja, because I do not wish to scare of my clients.
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ I’m actually so offended right now wtf  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ we’re fucking charming
> 
> _Caleb:_ Beauregard.
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ lmao I’m kidding we’re all dicks here  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ except of course for frumpkin who is and will always be a delight
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ he keeps knocking my things off the table
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ its called feng shui nott you ever heard of it
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ I don’t think feng shui is glass all over the kitchen floor
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ it could be.  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ dont stifle frumpkins artistic vision
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ I’ll stifle it as much as I want if it stops him from ruining my work
> 
> _Caleb:_ Can one of you please just buy me some lavender?
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ have you seen how tiny the beads I work with are? next time you can pick them all up from the floor
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ yea caleb I’ll pick some up on my way back from the gym  
>  _tres (les)bien_ : speaking of im heading back now do you want anything from the shops
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ I want candy
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ you always want candy  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ caleb you want anything???
> 
> _Caleb:_ Nein, no thank you.
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ aight k
> 
> _Caleb:_ Wait, actually, can you get me some loose-leaf tea?
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ your fancy shit?
> 
> _Caleb:_ It is not that fancy, but yes. That tea.  
>  _Caleb:_ I have run out.
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ damn caleb don’t tell me you drank all of it today
> 
> _Caleb:_ It has been a very long day.
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ it’s 11am
> 
> _Caleb:_ It has been a VERY long day.

Caleb sighs loudly, puts his phone down to one side, and leans forwards to hold his head in his hands. Gods. _Gods_. He knows that it really is only 11am, but it still feels like it should be later. It feels like the demon has been here for ages, sitting in the circle in a clean bathrobe that Caleb had fished out for him and occasionally speaking up as Caleb continues to try to figure out ways to send him back.

So far, nothing has worked. He’s tried the matching banishment for the summoning, a generic banishment, a _modified_ generic banishment, a whole host of banishments that he had written down in his witch-tome, and a banishment that he’s only had to use once before that Nott liked to refer to as the ‘scream and hope for the best’ banishment. Even that one hadn’t worked. Mollymauk had looked rather impressed, applauding very enthusiastically when Caleb had finally dropped his arms to his sides, gold and orange magic swirling around the room like a living being, but the fact that he had still been there to applaud irked Caleb more than it had appeased him.

Caleb lifts his head up, his eyes still shut, and drops it into his hands again. “Gods,” he mutters to himself. “ _Fuck_.”

“…Caleb?”

Oh, _wonderful_. Caleb lifts his head, looking over at Mollymauk, who’s looking at him with a curious and somewhat disbelieving expression. “ _Ja_?” Caleb asks. He can hear the tiredness in his voice – magic may not be physically taxing, but it definitely takes a toll after repeated use and Caleb can feel the exhaustion of it laid down along his bones.

Mollymauk lifts up the IKEA catalogue. “Is this actually called a _Billy?”_ he asks. “Did they really, honestly call a bookshelf a _Billy_?”

Caleb blinks. Then he blinks again.

He needs another mug of tea to put up with this nonsense.

“…Yes,” he says eventually. “Yes, Mollymauk, they did.”

“ _Why?_ ” Mollymauk asks. “And I’ve told you, Caleb, you’re more than welcome to call me Molly.”

Caleb shifts a little. It doesn’t feel right to call the demon Molly. It feels impolite, even rude; names have power, after all. Names are important. But, all the same, Mollymauk _has_ told him almost four times now. Caleb supposes that he can at least try. “I-” he says, “I don’t know, Mollyma- Molly.”

Molly grins. It’s surprisingly nice to hear Caleb say the more casual version of his name. “Does all the furniture in this have weird names?”

“I… that depends on what you consider _weird_ ,” Caleb replies, frowning a little.

“Things like ‘Billy’.”

“’Billy’ is a weird name?”

“For a bookshelf, absolutely,” Molly says.

Caleb frowns more. Between his eyebrows a tiny little dimple forms. Molly thinks it’s rather adorable. “…What would you call a bookshelf?”

“Carlton,” Molly says promptly.

Caleb leans forwards, resting his chin on one hand. “Carlton?” he repeats.

Molly nods. “Carlton. Or Reginald, if it’s particularly old.” At Caleb’s confused frown he elaborates. “You know, like a nice, antique bookshelf. One of the ones with mother-of-pearl inlays and ridiculously elaborate carving and detailing.”

“As elaborate as you?” Caleb asks before he can stop himself.

For a moment, Mollymauk’s eyes narrow. For all that he’s bundled up in a soft, fluffy bathrobe, he suddenly looks almost unsettlingly dangerous; he looks _other_ , the strangeness of his features abruptly making themselves somehow more apparent. His skin looks more obviously purple, his eyes more obviously red, and his tail manages to look more whip-like and unearthly. He is a demon, as Caleb well knows, but it is only now that he feels that he truly, completely realises that.

And then, quite abruptly, Mollymauk bursts into surprised, delighted laughter, and Caleb breathes again. “Hah!” he exclaims. “Yes, exactly! Or even more so, as a matter of fact.”

“More elaborate than you are?” Caleb asks. He can feel his heart rate, which had leapt up during the silence, start to settle again. Or to settle as much as his several consumed mugs of tea will let it.

Molly smiles. “Darling, believe me when I say that there are entire buildings down there in the Nine Hells that put my tattoos and piercings to shame.”

“Really?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Molly leans forwards a little in the circle, absently twitching his tail to wrap it around his torso. “There’s this absolutely _gorgeous_ building in the city centre – I’ve got no idea what it’s for – and all the windows are made from different types of gemstone. It’s delightfully extravagant.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “I- I had never heard about such building,” he says, a little surprised. Admittedly, he hasn’t heard much about the Nine Hells in general – most of the time when summoning demons it’s a case of calling them to this plane, checking if it’s a good time for them if he hadn’t had the chance to message them in advance, sending them back and rescheduling if not, and if it _is_ a good time for them then asking them to do whatever he called them there to do, paying them, and promptly sending them back. He rarely keeps them around to _chat_.

Still, Mollymauk seems more than happy to keep on talking.

“Oh, that’s barely the start of it,” he says. He shifts, tugging down one side of the bathrobe to reveal an intricate splay of flowers tattooed onto his shoulder and upper arm, disappearing beneath the soft grey fabric. “You see this?”

“ _Ja_.”

“I got this in a shop where every wall was made of marble. The acoustics were awful but the stone was damn pretty with all the gold running through it.”

Caleb blinks. “ _Gold_?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You have gold in the Nine Hells?”

“Absolutely, and lots of it.” Mollymauk covers his arm back up and leans forwards, resting his elbows on his legs and lacing his fingers together before resting his chin on them. “Where’d you think we get all the stuff to tempt mortals with?”

“That’s…” Caleb says. “I had never thought of that.”

“Mm, few do. It always amazes me how many of you magic folk are willing to give up far, far too much for a couple ounces of some shiny metal. You’re like magpies, all of you.”

Caleb can’t stop his gaze from briefly darting over the gold lines on the demon’s face, the ink on his skin, and the small gold rings pierced through his ears and wrapped around his tail. If anyone here is a magpie, he doubts that it’s him.

Molly catches his eye.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he says, grinning wider. “At least I’m willing to admit that I’m a magpie. Though really, I prefer to think of myself as a peacock.”

“Is that why you have the tattoo?” Caleb asks.

Mollymauk shrugs. “One reason of many.”

“What’s another reason?”

“It makes me look fantastically attractive.”

Caleb, mercifully, is saved from having to reply – his phone buzzes on the table next to his hand, dragging his gaze down and away from Mollymauk’s smirking, undeniably very attractive face.

> _tres (les)bien:_ @Caleb I got your fancy tea I’ll be home in a few minutes
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ did you get me candy???
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ yes I got you candy of course I got you candy
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ thank you beau
> 
> _Caleb:_ Thank you, Beauregard.

Caleb glances back up at Mollymauk, who’s looking at him with a confused expression. “My, ah, my housemate will be here soon,” he says by way of an explanation, lifting his phone up so that Molly can see it.

Molly nods, frowning a little. “Right…” he says slowly. “Does your housemate know that…” He trails off, waving a hand towards him. “Well, do they know that I’m going to be here?”

Caleb pulls a face. “More or less…?”

“What’s the ‘or less’?”

“… I may not have been explicit in saying that you are a demon.”

Mollymauk’s eyes narrow. It takes Caleb a moment to realise that it’s in _amusement_. “ _Caleb_.”

“ _Ja_?”

“That’s fiendish.”

Caleb doesn’t really have a comeback for that. He shrugs helplessly, running a finger along the inked scrawlings in his witch-tome. “ _Ja_ , well, I didn’t- they would freak out if I told them over text.”

“Mhmm,” Molly hums, sounding unconvinced. “More than they would just walking in to see a demon? Please tell me that they at _least_ know what you do.”

Caleb nods hastily. “Oh, _ja, ja_. Beauregard is my assistant, and my other housemate is my apprentice. They have seen me summon demons before.”

“Have they ever seen a demon in a bathrobe?”

“… Not that I can recall.”

“Hmm.” Mollymauk gives a thoughtful hum, leaning back in the circle until he’s resting against the invisible barrier of the salt. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. This is my first time being summoned naked and, if your reaction was anything to go by, I’m going to assume that this is your first time dealing with the consequences of that.”

“I didn’t mean to summon you naked,” Caleb mutters.

“Love, we both know that you didn’t mean to summon me at all,” Molly says kindly. “You made that very clear.”

Caleb makes an apologetic face. “I am still very sorry about that.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Mollymauk replies breezily, waving a hand. His nails shimmer, turning opalescent in the sunlight. “Accidents happen, although I get the impression that you don’t make them very often…”

Caleb gives a short laugh, looking back down at his book. “ _Ja_ , well, you are correct there,” he says, glancing over at Molly. “Normally I try to schedule summonings in advance.”

Molly blinks and raises an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

Caleb shrugs a little, crossing his arms over his chest. “It is- I like to be polite,” he says. “I like- I like for my summons to be in a good mood, and that means working to their schedule. It is very rude to just pull someone from the Nine Hells because you happen to need their particular skillset.”

“It happens all the time, Caleb. It happened just now.”

“ _Ja_ , but it _shouldn’t have_.” Caleb can feel himself glowering. “Just because we have magic does not mean that we have control over you. You are as much people as we are – I do not see why magic users cannot at least be _polite_. We can send messages to your realm without having to summon anyone at all. It is entirely possible to contact a demon, ask them if they are available for a summoning, agree on the terms of the deal, and then summon them when they are ready.”

“…Do you do that _every_ time you summon someone?” Molly feels… not exactly _shocked_ , but definitely surprised. It’s kind of sweet, he thinks. He’s been summoned a couple of times before and they’d all been on-par with Caleb’s summoning of him, minus the nudity; he’d just been going about his life, enjoying the day, only to be abruptly yanked from one plane of existence to another and have a pompous witch or wizard tell him that they needed him to do something. Admittedly, Caleb doesn’t seem particularly pompous – he seems awkward more than anything, but not exactly nervous – but he also doesn’t immediately give the impression that he’d be the kind of person to greet a summoned demon with _tea_.

And yet, apparently, he is.

Caleb shrugs again, looking down at the book before him. “It is polite,” he says, rubbing a thumb against the pages. “That is also why I give my summons tea – it is much more of an inconvenience for them than it is for me. Tea is the very least that I can do.”

Molly gives him a thoughtful, contemplative look. “You’re a bit of a strange one, aren’t you, Caleb?”

Caleb doesn’t know how to reply to that. “I-” he begins, “I, ah, I might-” He abruptly flinches in his seat at the sound of the front door flying open. “Hey, Caleb!” calls a loud, familiar voice, and a moment later Caleb hears a mirroring _slam_ as the door swings shut.

_Beauregard_. Caleb stands up so fast he pushes the table back a few inches – it scrapes across the floor, making Mollymauk jump slightly inside the circle.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mollymauk says, twisting around to peer in the direction of the hallway. “Is that your housemate?”

“Yes,” Caleb replies. He steps out from behind the table, fidgeting with a loose thread on his cardigan as he hears Beau move around.

“Caleb?” she calls. “Where you at?”

“The dining room!” Caleb calls back. Distantly he can hear the soft _thud_ of Beau kicking her shoes off and completely ignoring the shoe-rack beside the front door as she always does, and a moment later she pushes open the door to the dining room.

“I got you your lavender,” Beau says, chucking the small package at Caleb as she enters the room. She walks further in, her gym bag swinging from her shoulder, and spares a glance in Molly’s direction. “Hey, man.” She glances away, takes a few more steps, and then abruptly freezes.

There’s a pause.

Beau glances back.

Molly can practically feel her eyes on his skin as she looks over him, taking in his flat, red eyes, his curling horns, and the tattoos on his face. He grins at her, waving one hand in a small wave. “Hey yourself,” he says.

Beau blinks, and takes a step back. “…Woah,” she says. “You’re- _fuck_.” She spins, turning to face Caleb. “What the _fuck_ , dude?”

Caleb gives a small, almost apologetic smile. “I told you there would be someone here.”

“Uh-huh,” Beau replies. “But you neglected to mention that there was going to be an actual _demon_ sitting in our dining room!”

“You know that I do my summonings in the dining room, Beauregard-”

“That is not the point, Caleb.”

Caleb frowns. “I _did_ warn you…”

“You did not.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You said,” Beau says slowly, trying to keep her cool, “that there was a client here.”

Caleb raises his hands defensively. “I never said that!” he points out quickly, “I never said ‘client’! I said ‘visitor’!”

“Yeah, who Nott and I assumed would be a client!”

“ _Ja_ , well, that is not the case. As you now know.” Caleb drops his hands, crossing his arms across his chest instead. Today is not his day. It hasn’t been his day since half past nine, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to get better any time soon. His feet twitch a little, socked toes drumming against the floor; he can’t quite tell if it’s because of the lingering nerves about _his magic not working_ or if it’s because of the several mugs of tea that he’s consumed. He thinks it’s the former. He _thinks_.

Beau narrows her eyes at him either way. She strides across the room, socked feet practically soundless on the floor, and then reaches out suddenly, taking hold of his chin with one hand before he can even think to move away. She leans in, peering intently into his eyes, and seems decidedly displeased with what she sees there.

“Jesus, dude,” she says slowly, “how much tea have you had?”

Caleb squirms beneath Beau’s hand but she doesn’t let go of his face. “…Some?” he says. Technically, it’s not a lie.

Beau gives him a look. It’s a painfully familiar look. It’s the same sort of look that she gives him when she finds out that he was up all night decoding a cipher, or translating texts, or generally doing something other than sleeping. “Uh-huh,” she replies, sounding unconvinced. “Because from where I’m standing, I can see _seven_ cups on the table.”

“They’re not all mine?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound like a question but it does anyway. “They are- some of them are Mollymauk’s.”

Beau raises an eyebrow.

“He’s not lying,” Mollymauk pipes up from behind Caleb; Caleb watches as Beau’s gaze shifts over his shoulder, landing on the demon standing in the middle of the room. “Two of them are mine.”

“…Right,” Beau says slowly. “That’s still five mugs in your favour, Caleb.”

“I needed to focus.”

“I can see your pulse jumping, dude. Is this going to have to be like the time we banned you from coffee all over again?”

Caleb looks away guiltily. “That was _one_ time, Beauregard…”

“Yeah,” she says, “and I don’t want it to become two times. So I’m cutting you off from tea for the rest of the day.”

“Okay…” says Caleb.

“I’m gonna put the stuff I got you in the cupboard and if you open it, I will know.”

“Okay.”

“But I’m not going to tell Nott about this, because she’ll murder you worse than I will.”

Caleb hadn’t even considered that. Nott can be almost overbearing about his health and wellbeing at times, even though he knows that it comes from a place of genuine concern and care. Beau not telling Nott that he’s managed to consume enough caffeine to make him jittery before midday is probably for the best. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“…Can you let go of my face now?”

“What?” Beau asks, before blinking and dropping Caleb’s face. “Oh, yeah, sure, sorry. Kinda forgot I was still holding it.”

“ _Ja_ , well, I hadn’t,” Caleb mutters, rubbing absently at his jaw. “You have very strong hands.”

“That’s because I work out, Caleb. You really should think about joining me some time.”

Caleb pulls a face. “One day,” he says, as he’s been saying for the last three years.

“Next week,” Beau retorts, as she has also been saying for the last three years. “Anyway, you don’t normally chug this much caffeine without good reason. What’s up?”

Wordlessly, Caleb points at Molly. Molly waves.

“…Right,” Beau says slowly. “And the problem with purple demon dude is what, exactly?”

Caleb sighs. “His name is Mollymauk,” he says, “and he is not supposed to be here.”

“But you summoned him, right?” Beau asks.

“ _Ja_ , I summoned him, I have already explained this to Jester.”

Beau shrugs, frowning. “If you summoned him then just banish him, man. I’ve seen you do it before. You do it, like, every week.”

“I have _tried_ that.”

“Did you try again? Because, I mean - no offense, Caleb, you’re really good at all this magic shit – even you’ve gotta fuck up from time to time.”

“Yes, I have tried that too,” Caleb insists. He can feel Mollymauk’s gaze on him and he doesn’t particularly like it – it feels rude, discussing demon summoning and banishment so close to the demon in question. He wants to shift slightly, to somehow include Mollymauk in the discussion, but he doesn’t know _how_. After all, it’s not like Molly can exactly contribute much. There’s a reason that he couldn’t just send himself back.

“Alright,” Beau says. She falls silent for a moment, chewing on her lip, and then seems to come to some sort of conclusion. “What needs to be done for you to get rid of this guy?”

“I- can you help me tidy up?” Caleb asks, gesturing towards Molly. “I- I need to clean off the tarpaulin before I can draw a new circle on it, and I need to clean all the ingredient bowls, and tidy the table, and-”

Beau claps a hand down on his shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. “I’ll help,” she says, in a long-suffering tone.

Caleb gives her a grateful smile. He reaches up, laying his hand over Beau’s, and squeezes it gently. “Thank you, Beauregard.”

Beau smiles back. “No problem,” she says, squeezing his shoulder significantly less gently. “Besides, I’d be a pretty shitty assistant if I didn’t help you out from time to time, wouldn’t I?”

“Well-”

“Don’t ruin this,” Beau interjects quickly, but she’s still smiling. It’s a familiar smile to Caleb, one that he’s come to know and love in recent years; it’s the smile of his friend, and the smile of a long-running joke, and somehow Beau’s smile calms him more than any amount of tea could possible hope to.

Caleb squeezes her hand one more time and then shifts away from the touch. “Thank you,” he says again. Beau shrugs, stepping back.

“Just tell me what you need me to do.”

“The bowls,” Caleb says, pointing to the collection of saucers and dishes scattered around the room. “Could you take them through to the kitchen? And the candles? And-”

“Move all the garbage, got it.”

“It is not garbage, Beauregard, it is-”

“Important spellcasting components, yeah, yeah, I know.” She looks over at Caleb, a shit-eating grin painted across her face. “And don’t worry, I’ll put all the leftovers back in their tubs this time.”

“In their _correct_ tubs?”

“…I’ll do my best.”

Caleb supposes it’s as good as he’s going to get. Besides, he knows that when it really comes down to it Beauregard _is_ very careful – she seems loud and brash and a little obnoxious most of the time, and she really can be, but beneath it all she knows when to patient, and when to be sensible, and when to do _exactly_ what Caleb says to avoid catching her jacket on fire.

“Thank you,” he says one more time. “I will- I’ll-”

“Just call me when you need me, Caleb,” Beau interrupts. She moves over to the dining table, pushing Caleb’s empty mugs aside to make space for her gym bag, and then starts tidying up.

Between the two of them it doesn’t take long for the area around Mollymauk to be free of spellcasting components. All that’s left to clean up is the salt that still rings Molly, held in shape on the ever-shifting tarpaulin by the chalked circle that lies beneath it. It’s a bit of an awkward process, moving a demon from one salt circle to another, but Caleb’s done it before. Admittedly he’s only done it twice, but after the first instance he’d figured out a pretty good technique.

The only problem right now is that he can’t find the one thing that he needs.

“Beauregard?” Caleb calls, his voice muffled from within the depths of the dining room walk-in cupboard.

“Yeah?” Beau calls back from the hall, where she’s putting away the last of the candle stubs.

“Have you seen my, ah…” Caleb pauses, trying to remember what they called it, or if they’d even given it a name at all. “My… portable salt circle?”

From within the circle Molly frowns. He’s never heard of a _portable_ salt circle and he’s almost nervous to find out what it is. He’s curious, yes, but also nervous. Sue him; he’s a demon and salt, for some stupid fucking reason, is a barrier that he simply cannot cross. He can go around it no problem and he can touch it if he doesn’t mind having his fingertips burn for the next few minutes, but he can’t move it, and he can’t go over it, and being stuck in a circle is never, ever fun.

Out in the hallway, Beauregard shouts back.

“You mean your hula-hoop?”

“ _Ja!_ ” Caleb says. “ _Ja_ , yes, that! Do you know where it is?”

“Have you checked the pantry of things?”

“I am _in_ the pantry of things.”

“Fuck.”

Caleb sighs and nudges another jumbo-sized bag of salt with his foot. It’s hardly big enough to hide a hula-hoop, but he feels it’s worth checking anyway. Nott’s been getting in the habit of practising her shrinking spells on non-essential items and then forgetting where she put them. Sadly, the area behind the bag of salt remains hula-hoop free. _Scheisse_.

“Caleb!”

Caleb stands up so fast he nearly hits his head off the low doorframe. “ _Ja_?”

“I found it!”

“You found my hula-hoop?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it!”

There’s a flurry of motion as Caleb leaves the cupboard, haphazardly ducking his way under the bundles of herbs and clusters of plastic bags and washcloths that hang from hooks on the beams above. He steps out, leaning slightly so that he can see through the archway into the dining room.

Across the room, Beau sticks her head in from the hallway. A moment later her hand follows suit – held within it is a hula-hoop so vibrantly yellow it almost hurts to look at. It’s a familiar sight to Caleb, though, and a reassuring one. The hula-hop might be painful to look at but it’s served him well in the past, and he’s going to need it again now.

“I got it!” Beau says again. She grins widely, giving the hula-hoop a small wiggle as she steps into the dining room. The shimmer silver stripes on the yellow plastic sparkle gently in the morning sunlight.

“Where was it?” Caleb asks.

“In the pantry of other things. I saw it when I was putting the last of the candles away.”

“We really need to rename that pantry,” Caleb mutters as he crosses the dining room. Molly watches as he walks up to Beau, taking the colourful ring from her and giving it a quick shake. It makes a quiet _whoosh_ ing sound and it seems to be heavier than it looks, if the way that Caleb shifts a little when he takes it is anything to go by. It looks decidedly out of place against the witch’s attire; Caleb is dressed primarily in soft, neutral tones of brown and red, and the bright yellow of the ring looks strange in his hand.

Molly continues to watch in silence as Caleb approaches the circle, the ring held in one hand. It continues to make the strange sound it was making earlier as Caleb gets closer, and Molly leans away from it almost without thinking. It looks large enough for him to stand inside of. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t trust it. Nothing safe should be _that_ horrifically yellow.

“What’s that?” Molly asks. Caleb stops just short of the edge of the circle, holding one hand up in a calming gesture.

“It is a portable salt circle,” he says.

Molly glares at the ring harder. He can’t see any salt, though he won’t deny that the item is definitely circular in nature.

Caleb seems to recognise his confusion. He gives the ring a small shake and immediately Molly can hear a soft rushing sound from within it. “The salt is inside it,” Caleb explains. He holds the ring out so that half of it is within Molly’s salt circle. “You see that small piece of black tape?”

“Yeah…”

“Nott drilled a hole in the hula-hoop, we poured salt into it, and then put the tape over the hole to stop the salt from coming out.”

Cautiously, Molly reaches out for the hoop. Caleb holds it still as Molly takes it, running his fingers carefully over the little strip of black tape. It’s an ingenious idea, he’ll admit it, but it’s still a little bit worrying that Caleb just happens to have this on hand. The presence of the hoop suggests that Caleb is prepared for anything, almost worryingly so, and that combined with the fact that Caleb was very clearly _not_ prepared for Molly is… concerning.

Molly runs his claws over the tape a few more times before stepping back, still eyeing the hoop warily. It’s a very small hoop and he doesn’t particularly like the idea of being in it for any period of time. It looks cramped. “What do you need the hoop for?” he asks cautiously.

Caleb, in answer, gestures to the crinkling tarpaulin beneath Molly’s feet. “I need to clean the sheet,” he explains. “It is… the sigils have all layered up on themselves, you see? So I need to clean them before I can redraw the circle.”

“Can’t you do that with me still in it?”

“ _Nein_ ,” Caleb replies, shaking his head. “The circle is under and, ah, _throughout_ the salt, as it were. I cannot clean the circle without removing the salt, and I cannot remove the salt without giving you a route out.” He pulls a slight face. It sounds awful the way he’s describing it, but it’s true. Demons are unpredictable at best, and outright dangerous at worst. They’re not of this plane, of this angle of reality – their very nature defies the laws so inherent to everything else. They can exist in this plane, for unlimited amounts of time if needed, but there’s always a risk that salt helps to contain. There’s always danger.

Caleb will not let Mollymauk endanger his family.

“So,” he continues, “we will need to put you in the portable circle, just for a little while.”

“For how long?” Molly asks.

“However long it takes for me to clean and redraw the circle.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“I’m afraid it’s the best you’re going to get right now,” Caleb says apologetically.

Molly huffs a sigh out through his nose. He really, _really_ doesn’t want to have to sit all hunched up in the hoop, but it looks like it might be necessary if he wants to go home any time soon. And while it is interesting being on this plane, listening to Caleb and Beau’s conversations and generally enjoying the change in scenery, he’s not sure he’d like to stay here forever.

“Fine,” he says after a while. He stands from the floor, stretching a little to pull out the kinks in his spine. He wants to stretch his tail, too, but there’s not the space to do so, so instead he gives it a quick flex and hopes that it won’t cramp up on him any time soon. Tail cramp is _awful._ “Am I staying in here, or…?”

Caleb shakes his head. “ _Nein_ ,” he says. “I will- I need to clean the tarpaulin, like I said, so I need to get you out of the circle. We can put you on the couch in the living room if you would like to sit, though I am afraid that you may find the circle to be somewhat cramped.” His face turns apologetic. For a moment he pulls his lower lip between his teeth, worrying at it. “It is, ah… the few demons that I have had to put in the portable circle do not tend to enjoy it.”

Molly heaves a sigh. “It’s fine,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll live.”

“Oh, _ja_ , absolutely, there is no danger from using the circle!” Caleb assures him quickly. “It is completely safe. The salt will not even touch you.”

Maybe not, but Molly knows that he’ll still be able to feel it; like all demons he can _sense_ the presence of salt near him, like an itching at the back of his mind. It’s not bad, and it’s certainly not painful, but it can be annoying.

But Caleb doesn’t know that. Caleb does genuinely seem like he’s trying to get Molly home, and if that requires him standing inside a bright yellow and silver circle for a bit then so be it.

“Alright,” he says. He claps his hands, rubbing them together. “Circle me up, Caleb.”

“It is not- I am not actually going to be circling you,” Caleb says. As he speaks Beau approaches, giving Molly what he feels is supposed to be a reassuring smile. “I am, ah… Beauregard is stronger than me, so where possible she does things like this.”

“…Right,” Molly says. He doesn’t point out how, when salt is involved, a person’s strength doesn’t actually matter. “Then in that case circle me up, Beau.”

Beau takes the circle from Caleb and glances at Molly before lifting the hoop up and setting it down over him, holding it in place around his stomach. Molly tries to suppress a shiver; even with the bathrobe and the plastic acting as two layers of barriers, the double rings of salt around him feel far from pleasant.

“Alright,” Beau says, with all the confidence of someone who’s done this at least once before, and maybe even twice. “Just walk with me, nice and steady, come on…” Slowly, she leads Molly out of the dining room and down the corridor to the couch in the living room, lifting the hoop up to his shoulders to allow him to more easily climb up onto it.

Molly feels decidedly uncomfortable as he sits down on the couch, folding his legs and tail up awkwardly so that they don’t lie outside the boundaries of the hula-hoop. The circle hadn’t been great but it had been alright – at the very least he had space to comfortably lounge around on the cushions that Caleb had so thoughtfully provided – but the hula-hoop is just _tiny_. Molly can feel the invisible barrier of the salt pushing against his skin no matter where he sits; it feels like pins and needles, tickling against the edge of his nerves and making him feel itchy all over. He hates it. He’d only been able to put up with it in the circle because he’d had the bathrobe acting as a barrier. Here, with the salt so close to him, he can’t stop exposed parts of his skin from pressing against the boundary.

Beau seems to spot his discomfort.

“You look pissed off,” she says bluntly, stepping to one side as Caleb leans in to place a cushion behind Molly. Molly settles back against it with a quiet ‘thank you’, but it doesn’t help much – this tiny degree of comfort barely begins to mitigate the tingling itch of the salt.

All the same, he does his best to smirk at Beau. “Is it that obvious?” he asks, but he can tell that his teasing tone falls short.

Beau nods. “Oh, yeah,” she says. At Caleb’s nod she lowers the hula-hoop fully, settling it around Molly on the couch and carefully sliding it under the back cushions to keep it in place. “I mean… no offense, but your eyes just look kind of mad to begin with, you know? Like, being all red and stuff. But now you just look kind of annoyed. And _sad_. You got enough space in there?”

_No._ “I’ve got enough.”

“Alright,” Beau says. “Alright, that’s good. You looked kinda cramped. And we don’t have another hula-hoop so you’re kinda stuck with this one.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” Molly says. He shifts a little, tucking his tail over his legs and curling it up in his lap before reaching out to brush a claw over one of the many gold rings that adorn it. The warm metal is a familiar sensation beneath his fingertips, but it does little to alleviate the discomfort of the salt. He’ll manage, though. At least he has a bathrobe.

The sharp trill of a doorbell suddenly rings out through the house, making Molly flinch. Caleb turns to look towards the front of the house, checking his watch before glancing over at Beau.

“Jester must be here early,” he says, and Beau nods.

“Alright,” she replies. “You go let her in; I can hang out and keep an eye on Molly.”

Caleb nods, glancing back and forth between Molly and Beau. He trusts Beau - she looks like she’s got things under control and so far Mollymauk has done nothing that he would consider concerning. He should be fine to leave them alone for a few minutes. “Okay,” he says, and then goes to fetch Jester. He walks quickly down the hallway, only pausing to peek through the peephole of the door before opening it. When he does, he finds himself face to face with a wonderfully familiar person.

“ _Caleb_!” Jester squeals delightedly, flinging herself forwards to wrap her arms around Caleb in a hug. She briefly lifts him off his feet as she squeezes him, her curly blue hair tickling against his face until he feels like he might sneeze at any moment.

He doesn’t. After all, it’s generally considered bad form to sneeze on your friends.

“ _Hallo_ ,” he says instead, the moment Jester sets him back down on the ground. He takes a moment to breathe, nodding towards her vibrant hair. “Did you dye your hair again?”

Jester grins. “I did! I got sort of tired of the pink. It was really pretty and really cute but it just wasn’t my colour, you know?”

Caleb considers that for a moment. “Mm, _ja_ , I can see that.” He’s not quite sure why, but he can’t deny that Jester just looks more _Jester_ with her hair dyed a rich, dark blue. “It’s a good look on you. It looks good.”

Jester, somehow, smiles even wider. “Thank you, Caleb,” she says, bumping affectionately against his side as she follows him inside, tugging the door shut behind them. “Now, tell me about your _boy problem_.”

Caleb sighs. “It is- it is not like that, Jester.”

“It _sounded_ like that.”

“He is a demon.”

“Mhmm.”

“He is _not_ a sex demon.”

“If you say so.”

Caleb gives her a look. Jester raises her hands, smiling as innocently as it’s possible for her to smile. Unfortunately for Jester, that’s not very innocently. “I believe you!” she says, in a voice as free of honest belief as a desert is of fish. “I promise. I’m just saying, you _did_ say that he arrived naked. And that you summoned him. So, you know… no judgement...” She grins at him and Caleb sighs again.

“He is _not_ a sex demon,” he repeats. “I summoned him by accident.”

“You don’t make accidents with magic, Caleb.”

_Not that you know of_ , Caleb thinks. “We all make mistakes from time to time, Jester.”

“Yeah,” she replies, “but not _you_. You’re practically a _wizard_.”

“Even I make mistakes.”

“Hmm,” Jester says disbelievingly. “ _Sure_ you do.”

“I summoned him by accident – I _did_ , Jester, so do not give me that look – and now I cannot figure out how to banish him. But I know that you are very good at banishment, so I contacted you.” He glances over at Jester. “I was hoping that you would help me,” he adds softly, letting some uncertainty seep into his voice. It’s a little manipulative, and he’s knows that, but it’s also true; he is concerned, and he is worried. He doesn’t know why his magic isn’t working, and he doesn’t like it. His magic has _always_ worked for him, ever since he attempted his first spell. It has been a little unpredictable at times, yes, but it has always at least made an attempt towards what he wanted. With dismissing Mollymauk, though, it just hasn’t worked at all, and Caleb hates it.

Jester’s face softens. “Oh, Caleb,” she says. She reaches out, patting him gently on the arm. “It’s all going to be alright, don’t you worry. I am _super_ good at banishing demons, and I am super good at defusing awkward situations, so even if he doesn’t go away I’m still going to make things really cool and chill between you guys.” She pats him on the arm one last time for good measure and then drops her hands, giving him a sweet smile. “Okay?”

Caleb sighs. “ _Ja_ , okay.”

“Not good enough, Caleb, I want to see a smile.”

Caleb attempts a smile. “Okay?” he says again.

Jester frowns at him. She reaches up, poking at his cheek, but nods all the same. “Passable. We’re going to work on that. I want a real smile by the time I leave, Caleb.”

“If you can dismiss this demon, you will get a real smile.”

“’When’,” Jester corrects him. “Not ‘if’, ’when’. You have to trust me, Caleb.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then show me the demon, and let me put my awesome banishing powers to good use!”

Caleb’s smile turns a little more genuine. “Alright,” he says, and then he turns on his heel, beckons for Jester to follow him, and leads her through to meet Mollymauk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art of Molly in this chapter was done by the ever-wonderful [Jess!](http://dreaminginpencil.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, I'm going to try to post chapters every week and a half or so, so that I don't burn myself out with fic + university + dissertation. ^^;


	3. Chapter 3

They don’t manage to banish Molly that day, annoyingly enough.

By the time midnight rolls around, the entire house smells like incense, the mingling scents of lavender, sandalwood, and half a hundred other attempted circle ingredients drifting through the rooms. The door through to the back garden had been flung open by Nott not too long after she had returned home, spotted Molly, and promptly told Caleb off for not warning her of his presence. Caleb, naturally, had attempted to defend himself, which was rather hard to do with two hands full of candles and gravedirt. Nott hadn’t seemed particularly convinced; she’d given Caleb a disappointed look so strong that he could practically _feel_ it singeing his eyebrows and had then turned on her heel, stomped the few short metres between Caleb and the back door, and opened it into the garden.

Caleb’s still not quite sure _why_ she decided to open the door. He thinks it may have been to get the satisfaction of slamming it open, but unfortunately for Nott the back door is a sliding one, and so all that she’d got was a rather unsatisfying _shhhh_ -ing sound as it slid along its rollers. Whatever the reason, though, he appreciates it now. Frankly, he’s rather grateful for the fresh air. Beau had been grumbling about an headache since early evening, and Caleb’s recently been feeling much the same. Unlike Beau, though, he hasn’t voiced his discomfort, but after hours of repeatedly casting variations on the same spell over and over again, he can feel a headache gathering at his temples, wrapping around the inside of his skull like a vice. The cool night air helps a bit, as does the pizza that they’d ordered for a late second dinner, but he still feels exhausted down to his bones, every last inch of his magical reserves tapped and run dry. The last few attempted banishments in particular had felt like trying to get the last few drops of milkshake from the bottom of a very tall glass.

Caleb lifts a hand, rubbing the grime and gunk away from his eyes as he looks over towards the couch. Mollymauk is still sitting inside the hula-hoop, chatting away with Jester with a slice of pizza dangling from his fingertips, and, despite all the failures in sending him home, he looks surprisingly content. Caleb suspects that might have something to do with the rapid-fire conversation he’s having with Jester, though - she had been rather taken with the purple-skinned demon from the first moment that she saw him, and from their very first interaction Caleb had been able to tell that they’d get along like a house on fire, complete with the screaming and flames.

(“I’m Jester!” Jester had said, holding her hand out with a delighted grin. “I’m going to try and help you get home!”

Molly had taken her hand, returning her grin with an equally bright one of his own. “I’m Mollymauk!” he had said, “and I’m horrifically cramped and absolutely delighted to hear that!”)

Molly looks a little less cramped now. Beau and Caleb have been checking in with him periodically throughout the day, giving him the chance to stand up and visit the bathroom between failed banishments, and he spent a fair portion of the afternoon in a quickly thrown-together salt circle on the tarpaulin after Nott had spotted him trying to work out a cramp in one leg. Still, Caleb can’t imagine that being trapped in one small circle for so long can be particularly comfortable, and, with the time rapidly approaching midnight, he knows that he’s going to have to think of some sort of sleeping arrangement for the demon. _Wunderbar_.

Caleb sighs, leaning against the window and pressing his forehead against the cool glass. From the corner of his eye he can spot a blur of dark skin and blue hair approaching, but he doesn’t turn his head to look until Jester is right beside him.

“Caleb?” she asks quietly.

Caleb lifts his head, turning to look at her. “Mm, _ja_?”

“Can I stay over tonight?” Jester asks, worrying her lip between her teeth for a moment. “It’s really late and I don’t want to have to get a taxi back home.”

_Of course she can_. This will hardly be the first time that Jester has stayed over, and Caleb seriously doubts that it will be the last. “ _Ja, ja_ , of course you can,” he says. “You can have the spare room.”

Jester beams at him, stretching up to throw her arms around him in a quick hug. “Thank you, Caleb!”

“Of course,” he mumbles back, absently patting her on the back before she moves away. “You know where the spare toothbrushes are in the bathroom, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“ _Gut_. Make yourself comfortable, Jester. I will…” He trails off, turning to look at where Molly is peering over Nott’s shoulder as she plays some game on her phone, occasionally offering input. From the sound of Nott’s responses and Beau’s quiet, tired laughter, it’s not entirely wanted input. “I will find somewhere to put Mollymauk.”

“You could put him in the spare room?”

“You are in the spare room, Jester.”

Jester shrugs, still grinning. “I don’t mind sharing! He’s really interesting and funny once you get to know him, you know.”

“ _Ja_ , maybe so,” Caleb admits, “but I am not drawing an entire containment circle _or_ getting salt in the carpet just so Mollymauk can be your roommate tonight.”

Jester seems to consider this for a moment. “Alright,” she says eventually, lifting a hand to pat Caleb on the back. “That seems fair, I suppose. Let me know if you need my help, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Alright. I’m going to go upstairs now because I’m really sleepy.”

Caleb smiles at her. “Sleep well, Jester.”

“You too,” she replies. She turns, waving at Molly, Beau, and Nott as she leaves. “Goodnight, guys! Goodnight, Beau! Goodnight, Nott! Goodnight, Molly!”

“Night,” Beau calls back, returning the wave as Jester leaves the room. She stands, stretching out her spine with an audible _crack_ , and then follows after her, muttering under her breath about also needing her sleep. Caleb sighs again, lifting a hand to run it through his mussed hair, and then crosses the room to stand before Molly’s couch.

Moving Mollymauk is going to take some planning.

“Okay,” Caleb mutters to himself. Molly watches as he drums his fingers against his legs, sharp blue eyes darting over the immediate area. “Okay,” he mutters again. “Right. Mollymauk?”

Molly sits up a little straighter. “Yeah yeah?”

“Oh,” Caleb says, frowning slightly. “That’s… cute.” The words are soft, murmured as though for not Molly’s pointed ears, but Molly hears them all the same. He can feel himself starting to smile and tries to tamp it down - he gets the impression that if Caleb was more awake than he was now, he wouldn’t be saying that at all. As Molly watches Caleb shakes his head a little and continues speaking. “ _Ja_ , anyway. So, ah, as you may have noticed we didn’t quite manage to, ah, banish you today.”

Molly gives a wry smile, but he takes care to keep his tone light and teasing. For all that he is starting to miss his own home a little bit he doesn’t actually want to make Caleb feel any worse than he clearly already does; as the day had worn on he’d found himself actually quite starting to _like_ the lanky, ginger witch. He’s kind of cute, in a ‘nerdy professor’ sort of way, and he’d been nothing but endlessly polite to Molly all day, offering him tea and asking for his preferences when they ordered pizza in the evening. He’s sweet. Molly doesn’t want to upset him.

“Yeah,” he says, still smiling, “I noticed that a little bit.”

Caleb pulls a face. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” Molly butts in, “no need to apologise! You and Jester did everything you could, and this will certainly make for an exciting story later.”

Caleb gives a small, tired laugh. “Hah, _ja_ , I suppose that it will. But, anyway, as I was saying – we did not manage to dismiss you today, and I’m assuming that you are one of the demons that sleeps…” He pauses, waiting for Molly to nod in agreement before continuing. “Good. So, we need to find you somewhere to rest for the night.”

Molly can’t help his gaze from darting down to the hula-hoop that still rests around him. Even in the soft light of the room it still manages to be the brightest, most obnoxious yellow colour he’s ever seen. Which, coming from him, really means a lot. It’s so bright he almost feels like it should be considered a hazardous material.

Across from him, Caleb notices Molly’s gaze shift. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “We will do away with the hula-hoop for tonight - I was thinking that instead of the hula-hoop I could make a temporary salt circle around the couch so that you can sleep on it. Is this- would this agreeable for you?”

“Caleb,” Molly says simply, “this is already above and beyond what I was expecting. As long as I’m warm and mostly horizontal, I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, _ja_ , you will definitely be warm,” Caleb says quickly. “I am- I am assuming that the Nine Hells is hotter than here, so let me or Beauregard or Nott know if you need any more blankets. Just- well, just shout, I suppose.”

“I’ll be sure to do that, Caleb,” Molly replies.

“Good,” Caleb says. He lifts a hand, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder in the vague direction of the kitchen. Or possibly the pantry of things. Or the pantry of _other_ things. As far as Molly is concerned, two pantries is already two pantries too many. “I’m going to- uh-”

Molly waves a hand. “Go get your magic spell stuff,” he says. Caleb nods, taking a few steps back, and then vanishes through the doorway.

He returns a few moments later, carrying the now-familiar jumbo-sized bag of salt. “Okay,” he says, carefully pouring salt out into a wide circle around the couch, “this is going to be your space. I will put some extra blankets inside the circle so that you can get them if you need to, but if you are still cold-”

“Shout for you, Beau, or Nott,” Molly finishes. “I know, Caleb.”

“Good,” Caleb mutters. He stands up, placing the bag down beside his feet, and inspects the circle critically. It is, honestly, closer to being an oblong than a circle, but with the couch pressed so close to the wall it would be impossible to make a true circle without moving it, and Caleb knows that he’s definitely not strong enough for that. For now, for tonight, the oblong will do.

Caleb turns, about to start heading towards the linen closet, but is immediately stopped in his tracks by Nott, her arms full of blankets with a pillow balanced precariously on top of the stack. Being as small as she is, she’s practically invisible behind the piled blankets.

“Here,” she says, sounding just a little bit out of breath. She thrusts the pile out towards Caleb, making the pillow wobble worrying. “I heard you talking to Molly so I grabbed these! And I found some clothes that could be pyjamas for him too!”

Gods bless Nott. Caleb hadn’t even considered pyjamas.

“ _Danke, Schatz_ ,” he says, taking the pile from her. Nott beams at him, her smile snaggle-toothed and comforting.

“You looked really tired,” she says quietly. “I thought I could help before I went to bed.”

“You are an absolute star, Nott.”

Nott smiles wider. “Thank you, Caleb. Now don’t stay up too late trying to get more research done, alright?”

Caleb returns her smile with a small one of his own. “Alright,” he says. “Goodnight, Nott.”

“Night, Caleb. And goodnight, Molly,” she adds, turning to leave. Behind Caleb, he hears soft shifting as Molly turns to look at Nott.

“Goodnight!” he says. Caleb assumes that he waves, because a second later Nott waves back at him before turning and leaving the room.

There’s a pause.

“So,” Molly says, “I believe Nott said something about blankets?”

“Oh!” Caleb exclaims. He blinks hard for a moment, shaking his head a little. Gods, but he’s tired. “Ah, yes. Here you go.” He passes the teetering stack of fabrics to Molly and quickly leaves the room as he gets changed, only returning when Molly calls him back in. What greets his eyes is… well.

It’s possibly the least demonic that Caleb has _ever_ seen a demon look.

For starters, Molly is covered up to the waist in a thick, fluffy, blue blanket. He’s taken off his remaining jewellery and placed it neatly on top of the bathrobe next to the couch, and somehow, without the gold and silver hanging from his horns and ears, he looks… softer. He still looks out of place, what with his purple skin, and red eyes, and sprawling peacock tattoo, but he also looks gentler.

The oversized cat sweater adds to that, too. It hangs off Molly’s taller frame a little bit, the sleeves that become sweater paws on Caleb actually seeming to properly fit the demon, and Caleb feels that Molly would have to start literally producing fire to be considered anything less than adorable in his current ensemble. Caleb can’t deny that the overall effect is, frankly, more than a little bit cute. _Molly_ is more than a little bit cute, he thinks.

And then Molly catches his eye, gives him a small smile, and Caleb is suddenly very glad for the darkness of the room.

Gods. _Gods_. What is he doing? He is seriously _blushing_ because he thinks that the actual, real, flesh-and-blood demon sitting in his living room, wrapped up in a fuzzy blue blanket, is _cute_? Is he really doing that? Is he really thinking that? He’s- Molly is- he’s a _demon_. An actual one, with horns, and a tail, and flat red eyes that are definitely creepy and definitely _not_ kind of cool. Caleb shouldn’t be absently thinking about how adorable he looks. He should be thinking about how to send him home, and nothing more beyond that.

Caleb gives his head a quick shake. He’s tired. He’s very tired, and he’s very busy, and he needs to go to bed.

Unseen to Caleb, the corner of Molly’s mouth twitches up into a slight smile. Maybe it’s because Caleb wasn’t expecting him, or maybe it’s because Caleb just hasn’t remembered it, but he doesn’t seem to be aware that Molly, like a lot of demons, has darkvision. Molly watches as the blush on Caleb’s cheeks starts to recede and decides not to comment on it. He doesn’t want to go giving away this wonderful ability that he has _quite_ so early.

Definitely not if it means he might be able to see Caleb blushing again.

Molly smiles to himself, tugging the blankets up as he gets settled on the couch. “Thank you for the blankets,” he says, instead of saying something about how sweet Caleb looks when he blushes. “They’re very warm.”

Caleb smiles a little more. It’s a small smile, barely there beneath the exhaustion, but it makes his face soften into something gentle. “Ah, _ja_ , well, Nott always likes to buy more blankets whenever we go to IKEA. I am sure that she is planning on building a nest somewhere.”

“These are from IKEA, too?”

“ _Ja_.”

“…Do they also all have silly names?”

Caleb gives a short burst of quiet laughter. “Hah, _ja_ , I believe they all do.”

“Do you know any of them?”

There’s a pause. Caleb’s brow furrows into a frown and he starts chewing on his lips absently, clearly thinking hard.

“… _Gurli_ ,” he says eventually.

Molly blinks. “Pardon?”

“That is one of the blankets.”

Molly looks down, freeing a hand from beneath the layered fabric to run his claws over one of the blankets. “That is a very silly name for a blanket, Mr Caleb.”

“Don’t blame me – blame the IKEA naming things department.”

“I’ll do that,” Molly replies. “But I’ll do it in the morning. I don’t know about you, but I’m shattered.”

Caleb smiles weakly. “Oh, _ja_ , I understand that,” he says. “Goodnight, Mollymauk.”

Molly smiles at him, snuggling down under the blankets. For all that this place is about as far from his home as it’s possible to be he feels remarkably at ease – there’s no chalked circle holding him in, just a circle of salt that’s far enough away not to itch at his skin too much, and Caleb, Beau, Nott, and Jester have been nothing but courteous to him all day. The couch, too, is remarkably comfortable, all things considered. It’s not as comfortable as his rather luxurious bed back in the Nine Hells, with its throws, and lights, and veritable mountains of pillows, but it’ll do. The blankets are warm, and there’s just enough space for him to tuck his tail up next to him.

For an accidental summoning, Molly feels that this could have turned out much worse.

He turns his head, catching Caleb’s eye. Caleb startles briefly, but Molly can’t blame him – he knows that in the night-shadowed room his visible eyes are glowing a dull, soft red.

“Good night, Caleb,” he says back. “Sleep well.”

There’s a pause. A few seconds later, Molly thinks he sees Caleb’s lips twitch up into a smile. “You, ah, you too,” he mutters. “Sleep well, Mollymauk.”

“Fingers crossed for tomorrow.”

“ _Ja_. Fingers crossed.”

Caleb nods to himself, his weak, human eyes giving the room one last look-over, and then he steps back, shuts the door, and retreats back upstairs.

Jester is waiting for him on the landing above, leaning back against the door to the spare room with a bundle of clothes in her arms.

“Is Molly okay?” she asks when Caleb is only halfway up the stairs, her eyes wide and anxious. “Is he warm enough? I don’t know what it’s like in the Nine Hells but it’s probably, you know, a _lot_ hotter than it is here. I don’t want him to get cold. He seems really nice.”

Caleb shrugs. “Nott gave him just about every spare blanket that we have,” he says. “He should be fine.” He joins her on the landing, leaning back against the wall. “How about you, though? Are you alright? Do you have pyjamas?”

“Oh, yes!” Jester replies. “Beau was going to lend me some of her clothes, which was really sweet of her but you know that they wouldn’t have fit me _at all_ , but then Nott said she had some stuff in my size!” Jester beams. “Apparently she went out and got pyjamas for me after last time I was here without any! Wasn’t that really sweet of her?”

“It was very sweet of her,” Caleb agrees. “Nott is… she cares a lot.”

“She does. I’m going to bet that she got you pyjamas for Molly, too.”

“ _Ja_ , she did. I am hoping that I will be able to give the blankets back to her tomorrow. She likes adding them to her bed.”

“We’ll have to banish Molly first,” Jester says thoughtfully.

“I know.” Caleb sighs, stifling a yawn. “But we can- sorry- we can try again tomorrow?”

Jester nods. “Try again tomorrow,” she agrees. “Now go to bed, Caleb. You look like you’re going to fall over.”

“I feel like I’m going to fall over,” he mutters, but he still has enough presence of mind to lean down and press an absent kiss to Jester’s cheek. “You let me know if you need anything, _ja_?”

“ _Caleb_ ,” Jester sighs, “I have stayed here before, you know.”

“ _Ja,_ I know, I am just- I am trying to be a good host.”

“You’re always a good host, Caleb.” She smiles up at him and returns the cheek kiss. “But you can’t be as good a host _or_ as good a witch if you don’t get any sleep, you know. We’re going to be doing a lot of work tomorrow. You need your rest.”

“I will get my rest.”

“That means no staying up late looking through your book for more answers.”

Caleb frowns, but he doesn’t say anything. He _definitely_ doesn’t say that he was already half-planning on creeping downstairs later to see if any of the tomes on the bookshelves contained anything useful.

Jester narrows her eyes at him. “Caleb,” she says warningly, “I _will_ know if you try to sneak downstairs. And I _will_ tell Nott. And Beau.”

…On second thoughts, maybe he _won’t_ sneak downstairs.

“Please don’t,” Caleb mutters, stifling a yawn. “You know that they will eat all the good cereal just to punish me.”

“So don’t do it and I won’t have to tell them. It’s really very simple.”

Caleb sighs. “Fine,” he says.

“I mean it.”

“I know you do, Jester.” He does. He really, really does. He’s experienced Jester’s concern before; it’s rather like being mothered by a very doting, but still very scary lion “I’m going to- bed. Sleep. That.”

“Good.” Jester stretches up, pressing another kiss to Caleb’s cheek. “Goodnight, Caleb.”

“Goodnight, Jester.” Caleb smiles at her wearily, turns on his heel, and walks down the hallway to his own bedroom. He changes, quickly steps into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and then climbs into bed.

He falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow, and he doesn’t wake up once the entire night.

\---

Sunday goes very similarly to Saturday. The only difference this time is that the attempts to banish Mollymauk somehow, impossibly, become even more ridiculous.

\---

“Ooh, Caleb, what about this one?”

“I tried that one yesterday morning, Jester.”

“Hm, maybe, but did you try it with _me_?”

“ _Ich_ \- _nein_ , I didn’t, you were not here, but I do not see how that would make any difference-”

“Let’s try it.”

“…Okay.”

\---

“You want to _what_?”

“I wanna try and dismiss him.”

“It is called banishing, Beauregard, and you are- you have…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got practically no magic, whatever.”

“ _Ja_ , exactly, and I strongly suspect that what magic you have is wizard magic, too.”

“…Does that matter?”

“Does that- yes, it matters! You will need the exact correct ingredients and incantations to send Mollymauk back, but the problem is that we do not even know what they are! I summoned him by accident, remember? And I have not been able to find any mention of him in my book, so I cannot say with certainty what his summoning or banishment ingredients even are.”

“Did you think to _ask_ him?”

“I- oh.”

“You didn’t, did you?”

“I was- I was trying other things, Beauregard.”

“Uh-huh. So how about we ask Molly what he needs to be summoned, or dismissed, or banished, or whatever, and then if we have them hanging around you let me give it a shot?”

“I am not sure about this, Beau…”

“Aw, c’mon, Caleb! What’s the worst that could happen?”

\---

“I’m sorry.”

“…”

“I didn’t mean to set off the fire alarm.”

“To be fair, it was a really impressive explosion that you managed to make.”

“You’re not helping my case, Molly.”

“He’s right, though. It was very impressive.”

“Thanks, Nott, but the point still stands – not exactly helping my case, here.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re fine. And I _am_ sorry, Caleb. I rushed it, and I fucked up, and I singed your favourite cat cushion, and that was bad of me.”

“…Second-favourite.”

“What?”

“That was my second favourite cat cushion. Not my most favourite. You didn’t quite fuck up that badly.”

“…Does this mean that I can still be your assistant?”

“…Yes.”

“ _Hell yeah, dude_.”

\---

“Can someone please get Frumpkin out of the circle?”

“Oh, I don’t mind him being here. Look – I think he likes me!”

“I am not banishing my cat to the Nine Hells with you, Mollymauk.”

“Why not?”

“Because he is _my_ cat.”

“But we’re friends now.”

“You’re - _Gods, why did this have to happen to me?_ \- you are _not_ keeping my cat. Put him down.”

“ _Caleb_ …”

“Put the cat down, Mollymauk.”

“…Fine.”

“Thank you. Now let’s try this again.”

\---

“I’m going to bed,” Nott announces suddenly, some four hours of failed banishment attempts later. Her voice is the first thing to break the silence of the room; they’ve all been sitting around in various states of exhausted for almost an hour now, alternating between staring into space and staring at the new circle that Molly’s sitting in on the tarpaulin. Nott stands up on the couch with a yawn, stretching her arms above her head before jumping down. “I’ve got work and classes tomorrow,” she adds, her feet hitting the floor beside Jester.

“I might have to join you,” Jester says apologetically. She lifts her head from where she’s sitting at the foot of the couch, tilting it back to lean it against Caleb’s leg. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I tried really hard.”

Caleb sighs. “ _Ja_ , I know you did, Jester.”

“I’m sorry none of it worked.”

Caleb reaches out, absent-mindedly patting Jester’s head. “It’s alright,” he says quietly. “We made a good attempt at it though, _ja_?”

Beneath his hand he can feel Jester nodding. “We did,” she admits with a sigh. Caleb pats her head again. “I’m just sad that none of it worked. We’re normally so _good_ at magic.” She looks over at Molly, sitting amid a scattered circle of half-burned out candle stubs. The salt circle on the floor had been cleared up after Frumpkin kept walking across it, breaking the salt barrier keeping Molly contained, and they’d decided to put him in a more permanent circle for the rest of the day. “I’m sorry, Molly,” Jester says softly.

Molly smiles. He can see Jester’s lower lip trembling slightly, can see the tiredness in her eyes, and he can’t feel badly towards her. He knows that she tried. She tried in a rather more scattered, undirected way to Caleb’s measured, methodical approach, but she’d clearly given it her all. And besides, he likes her – between banishment attempts she’d been chatting away with him about all the similarities and differences of life in the material plane and in the Nine Hells, keeping him engaged and entertained and involved in the activities. It had been nice.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for all your help, Jester.”

“I’m going to talk to all the witches and wizards I know who might be able to help,” she says. “I promise. We’re going to figure out a way to send you home, Molly.”

“We will,” Caleb adds. His voice is quiet but firm and certain. “This is- this is still just magic. I summoned you, so I must be able to banish you again. That is how it works.”

“I have absolute faith in you, Mr Caleb,” Molly replies, doing his best to keep his tone serious. “And you too, Miss Jester. I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon.”

Caleb pulls a slight face. “ _Ja_ , well, I certainly hope so,” he mutters as Jester stands and stretches.

“We _will_ figure it out,” she promises. “I swear.”

Molly smiles at her. “Thank you,” he says again. “And goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Molly,” Jester replies. She smiles at him, the light catching on her dark brown eyes, and then turns to leave.

Caleb stands, following Jester towards the front door. He can hear Nott puttering around the floor above, getting her stuff in order before going to bed, and the normality of the sound is almost bizarre given the weirdness of the last two days. Caleb would be the first to admit that his job of potion-brewing, spell-casting, and demon-summoning could be considered ‘unusual’, but even for him this is out of the ordinary. He’s never heard of a demon who couldn’t be banished before. _Ever_. Jester claimed that she had, but apparently the demon in question had been some high-up, super powerful, extremely important demon hell-bent on destroying the material plane and life as they knew it, or something to that ilk. Caleb doubts that Molly has similar goals in mind. For starters, he’d been actively partaking in the rituals to send him back home without even a hint of complaint, and Caleb really can’t picture Molly planning anything particularly nefarious after listening to him argue with Nott for almost an hour about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza.

It’s also hard to picture Molly doing anything evil while dressed in an old pair of sweatpants, miss-matched fuzzy socks, and a novelty sweater that Beau had got Caleb as a present many years ago that bears the image of an incredibly grumpy cat.

Molly isn’t some ridiculously powerful demon, and this is just an accident. This is just a hiccup.

_This will be over soon_.

Caleb waits as Jester does up her shoes and tugs on her coat, and then opens his arms to return her hug when she’s finally ready to go.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, stepping back from Caleb. “I really am, Caleb.”

Caleb smiles at her. “Jester, you tried your best,” he says softly. “That is all I could ask for. And you gave me some ideas of spell areas to look into, you know.”

Jester brightens visibly. If she had a tail like Molly’s, Caleb feels that it would be wagging. “Did I?”

“Oh, _ja_. Your idea of a modified Mercer circle was very good – I might see if there are any generic variations of it.”

Jester smiles a little wider. “Yeah, do that! I’ll look through my book tomorrow, and I _promise_ that I’ll talk to some people and ask them if they can help with this, okay?”

Caleb nods, frowning a little. “Okay,” he agrees, his voice wary, “but you know not to-”

“I won’t name you, Caleb.”

Caleb feels his chest loosen slightly. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“I’ll just call you Magic Brian.”

“I am- it is not _Magic Brian_ ,” Caleb says, for what must be the hundredth time in their friendship. “I go by ‘Liam O’Brien’ when I am in glamour and dealing with clients, you know this-”

“And Liam O’Brien can do magic,” Jester points out with a wide grin. “Which makes him Magic Brian! It’s really very simple, Caleb.”

Caleb can’t stop his smile – after a day of failures and watching his friend grow more and more exhausted it’s good to see her grinning again. She looks more like _Jester_ when she’s happy and bouncy. It’s practically her default state of being, after all. “Fine,” he concedes. “You can keep calling me ‘Magic Brian’ if you must.”

Jester dimples at him. “Thank you, Magic Brian.”

“ _Ja, ja_ ,” Caleb mutters, rolling his eyes. He steps forwards, opening the door and holding it wide for her. “Now go and get some rest, Jester.”

“Okay,” Jester replies, drawing out the word. “Goodbye, Caleb. Good luck with banishing Molly!”

“Goodbye, Jester,” Caleb replies. “And thank you.”

Jester grins at him one last time before turning on the spot and vanishing into the darkness of the night.

For a moment, Caleb continues to stand in the open doorway. He shuts his eyes, letting the cool night air swirl around him; he can feel it sighing against his skin, like it’s wiping away the grime and grit of two days of repeated failure. He feels drained, more than anything. He feels like all he needs is the world to stop for a day, for an hour, for a minute, so that he can get his head back in order and _fix_ this.

But he can’t have that. For all his research, for all his attempts, Caleb has never been able to manipulate time.

He stands in the doorway for a few more seconds, letting his head clear before finally shutting the door.

“Okay,” he mumbles to himself. He lifts a hand, rubbing at his eyes, and then drops it as he turns and starts walking back to the living room. Beau’s still sitting on the other couch, her feet kicked up against the armrest and her head lolling back in a doze. Caleb looks at her, looks to Molly, looks to the bag of salt sitting in the corner of the room, and comes to a conclusion with a sigh. “Beau?”

Beau stirs herself on the couch. “Mm, yeah? What is it?”

“Can you lead Molly upstairs?” Caleb asks. “To the spare bedroom?”

Molly pricks his ears up. This is a change. He can only assume that he won’t be sleeping on the couch tonight.

Beau seems to think similarly. “You giving Molly the bed?” she asks, scrambling off the couch and moving over to Caleb’s side in the doorway.

Caleb nods. “It looks like he might be here for a while,” he says, defeat colouring his voice. “And Jester is not staying here tonight, so Mollymauk might as well sleep somewhere comfortable.”

Beau frowns. “What about the salt?”

“I will handle the salt.” Caleb lifts a hand, pressing his fingers to his temples. Even in the short time that he’s known him, Molly already knows that this gesture means. It’s a sign of exhaustion, and of an approaching headache, and of generally being _done_. “I will- we can put salt down tonight, and after she is done with work tomorrow I will ask Nott to chalk a circle onto the ceiling.”

Beau shrugs, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest. “I can do that.”

“You can chalk an accurate, demon-specific containment circle on the ceiling of the spare bedroom?”

“Yeah, totally. We’ve got a stepladder, right? I’m strong and flexible and shit. I can totally do that. Just give me a reference and I’ll get it done for you, no problem.”

“Are you sure?”

Beau shrugs again. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

“ _Beauregard_ ,” Caleb says, his voice abruptly turning firm, “I mean this. If this circle is fucked up in any way then things could go very, very badly. Do you understand?”

Unseen by either of them, Molly shivers. That’s- different. That’s not a voice that he’s heard Caleb use yet. Normally Caleb just seems- well, he normally just seems _shy_. He normally seems sweet, and nerdy, and a little bit anxious and awkward, and he’s been seemingly increasingly tired as the weekend has gone on, but this is different. This is _very_ different. Caleb’s voice is just as soft as it was before but there’s a second layer to it now, one that gives no space for arguing. He sounds cold, and certain, and almost commanding. It’s a little bit scary.

In Molly’s opinion, it’s a little bit _hot_.

Molly gently whacks himself on the thigh with the split end of his tail. _No_ , he tells himself. _No, we are not going to do this. We are not calling the witch who summoned us and then got us stuck here ‘hot’. We’re not doing it. We’re not_.

He glances over at Caleb. The witch’s posture has corrected slightly, his shoulders pulling back and his spine straightening as he stands up more. It makes him look taller, for all that he’s a good several inches shorter than Molly’s slightly too-lanky frame, and it undeniably makes him look more imposing in a strange, hard to pin down kind of way.

Molly swallows.

_Okay_ , he thinks to himself, _maybe we can call him just a_ little _bit hot_.

“Beauregard,” Caleb says again. “Do you understand?”

Before him, Beau gives a small sigh. “Yeah,” she says, her voice somewhere on the border between sullen and understanding. “Yeah, Caleb, I know. I’ll triple check everything. Promise.”

“Good.” Between one breath and the next Caleb’s posture relaxes, making him seem no more imposing than he did a short handful of seconds ago before he grew so serious with Beau. “I took a picture of the circle before I cleaned the tarpaulin. We know that that one can contain Mollymauk, so I will send it to you to copy.”

“You got it,” Beau replies, tapping two fingers against her temple in a lazy salute. “So, salt tonight, and I’ll work on the circle tomorrow?”

“ _Ja_.”

“Alright. Do you think Nott will let me borrow her chalks?”

“She should. I will buy her new chalks as a thank-you anyway.”

“Cool.” Beau says, nodding to herself. “Cool, cool, cool. Alright. Good plan, dude.” She leans over, gently punching Caleb on the arm in what Molly thinks is supposed to be an affectionate manner. “You’ll figure this out,” she says reassuringly as Caleb lifts a hand to rub gently at where Beau’s fist had landed. “You’re a smart dude. Just, y’know, get your sleep, and don’t drive yourself mad over this, and I’m sure we’ll be free of Molly in no time.” She looks over towards Molly. “No offense.”

Molly waves a hand. “Please, none taken,” he says, giving Beau a smile that she doesn’t return. Well. No harm in trying, he supposes.

Beau looks back to Caleb. “You want me to take him upstairs now?”

“ _Ja_ , would you?” Caleb replies. At Beau’s assenting nod he holds out on hand, giving his fingers a lazy, tired flick. There’s a small burst of amber-gold magic and then Molly flinches as the hula-hoop goes zooming past his face from where it had been thrown into one corner, landing in Caleb’s hand before he tosses it to Beau.

_Not hot_ , Molly tells himself again. _Not hot, not hot, not hot_.

“I will meet you upstairs,” Caleb says, already moving towards the door. “I will get the circle sorted as you bring Mollymauk upstairs.”

Beau nods. “Alright,” she says, already starting to move over to Molly. Molly stands with a soft sigh, ducking into the hoop as Beau smudges a space in the circle with her foot. It’s almost sad how familiar this hoop and method of moving from place to place have become for him over the last few days, but Molly doesn’t complain – he just follows quietly as Beau leads him upstairs and towards an unmarked door, which opens to reveal a small, plain bedroom. Caleb finishes laying out the salt circle as they approach, straightening up with a foot-wide gap still left in it for Molly to enter through. Molly can see him furrowing his brow and thinks back to his earlier complaints about getting salt in the carpet. It seems that, at least for now, Caleb’s desire to ensure Molly’s comfort overwhelms his dislike of cleaning up after magic.

It doesn’t make something in Molly’s chest feel warm. It _doesn’t_.

“Thank you, Caleb,” he murmurs as he passes him. Caleb gives a small hum, closing the circle behind Molly as Beau removes the hula-hoop from around him.

“Where d’you want this?” Beau asks quietly.

“Behind the door,” Caleb replies.

“With the salt?”

“ _Ja_.”

“Alright.” There’s the soft sound of movement but Molly doesn’t see anything as he climbs up onto the bed. The sheets feel clean and soft against his skin, like they’ve just been freshly laundered. After a night on the sofa, it’s really quite a wonderful change. “Do you need me for anything else?” Beau asks. Caleb must have shaken his head because a moment later Beau is wishing him a quiet goodnight, leaving the room with the door still open behind her.

And then it’s just Molly and Caleb in the room.

Molly turns his head. Caleb is leaning against the open doorway of the room, exhaustion clear in his eyes, and his face, and his posture. He clears his throat when he sees Molly looking at him, nodding towards the bed. “Are you, uh, are you comfortable?” he asks. To Molly’s ears, his accent sounds heavier, weighed down with tiredness. Molly’s not complaining, though. It sounds nice.

He smiles at Caleb. “I am,” he says. “Thank you very much, Caleb. Really.”

Caleb raises one shoulder in a shrug. “ _Ja_ , well, it is only polite.”

“Like the tea?”

Caleb give a short laugh. “ _Ja_ ,” he says softly. “Like the tea. I do not wish for my summons to feel uncomfortable, Mollymauk. Even when they are, y’know…”

“An accident.”

“…Yeah. An accident.” The corner of Caleb’s mouth twitches up in a small smile. “I am glad that you are comfortable though, Mollymauk. Even if you are not home quite yet.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll get there soon enough,” Molly replies cheerfully. “You seem plenty talented to me, Caleb.”

Caleb smiles a little more. “Uh, thank you,” he murmurs quietly. He glances down, looking at the ground beneath his feet for a moment, and then looks back up at Molly. “Goodnight, Mollymauk.”

Molly smiles at him. “Goodnight, Caleb. Sleep well.”

For a moment, Caleb seems caught off-guard, just like how he did the previous night, but he quickly recovers. “You, ah, you too.” His lips twitch up in what Molly thinks is an attempt to return the smile, and then he steps back and shuts the door with a _click_.

Molly flops back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling of the darkened room. For the first time since he arrived he lets himself open all six of his eyes, lifting a hand to scrub away the lingering tingle that comes from keeping them hidden for so long.

With all six of them open he can finally now see the magic that runs through the house; he can see the trails of it that follow Caleb along the corridor to his bedroom; he can see it gathered in humming clusters around the sigils that someone – Caleb, presumably – had marked into the walls and doorframes. He can see the ugly, twisting mess of left-over magic that’s gathered in a puddle in the dining room - an oil slick blur of Caleb’s amber magic and Jester’s blue-gold.

It is not at all like the home that Molly knows. The home that Molly knows practically _sings_ with magic, but with magic of a very different kind. The magic of the Nine Hells is a softer, slower, more insidious type of magic – it’s seeped through every inch of the plane’s fabric, present everywhere and in everything. Molly has that magic himself, clinging just to the underside of his skin; he can’t do much with it, and he certainly can’t do the type of magic that Caleb has been casting all day long, but he can do enough. He can move small things, and create small curses, and give himself a glamour. It’s sufficient. Besides, it’s not like his job or life particularly demands it, unlike Caleb’s.

Molly shifts and rolls over. Gods, what _is_ Caleb’s job? From what Molly’s picked up on over the weekend it seems to be something to do with doing magic for other people, but beyond that it’s a bit unclear. Molly knows that Caleb hadn’t intended to summon him, and he knows that Caleb was hoping to summon a gardening demon, but for what exact purpose he doesn’t know. Then again, he’s never exactly interacted with many witches before, and certainly not for this length of time. He doesn’t know exactly what they’re capable of, and that worries him.

Caleb doesn’t worry him, though. Caleb has magic: that much is clear. He has significant magic, and he has obvious mastery over it, but it doesn’t concern Molly the way he feels like it should. Caleb is… he’s _strange_. He’s careful, and quiet, and yet for all his skills, Molly is sure that he saw Caleb shift uncomfortably when Jester mentioned bringing in other witches and wizards. It’s unbearably intriguing. _Caleb_ is unbearably intriguing.

Molly rather thinks that he would like to get to know him better, as long as he is here.

In the darkness of the room, Molly opens his mouth. “ _ᖨ_ _ᛮ_ _Ѩ_ _ᘸ_ ,” he murmurs in Infernal. _Caleb_. The witch who summoned him here. The witch who couldn’t send him home. The witch who, all day, has been doing his best to keep Molly calm and comfortable in between draining himself of every last drop of magic in an attempt to send Molly back. He’s nice. He’s sweet. Molly feels like he shouldn’t like him as much as he does already.

Still, nothing will come of it. He’s sure of that.

Molly shuts his eyes, thinks of Caleb’s shy, faltering smile, and sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As in chapter two, the art of Molly in this chapter was done by the wonderful [Jess](http://dreaminginpencil.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Chapter 4

“So,” Caleb says the following morning, as the smell of toasting bread starts to fill the air, “we are in a bit of a predicament, _ja_?”

Over at the dining room table, Molly shrugs. He drums his fingers against the polished wooden surface, leaning slightly to one side to watch as, beyond the serving counter that separates the kitchen from the dining room, Caleb putters about making breakfast. He hadn’t been expecting Caleb to offer to cook for him when he first woke up. But then again, he’s barely been expecting _any_ of the things that Caleb has done over the last few days. He hadn’t expected Caleb to summon him, and he hadn’t expected to be given tea, and he certainly hadn’t expected the pizza last night or the clean set of ill-fitting clothes that Caleb had brought to his room this morning, but all of those things had happened anyway.

The clothes were a bit of a surprise, though. Even without opening the rest of his eyes Molly had been pretty certain that they were Caleb’s – they were all in soft, warm, neutral colours, with very few patterns or prints to be seen, and the slightly awkward look on Caleb’s face as he’d handed them across the salt circle to Molly had only helped to confirm that suspicion.

They’re comfy, though. They’re not exactly his usual style, and his tail is a bit awkwardly stuck down one trouser leg, but the t-shirt, flannel, and age-softened pair of jeans are comfortable enough. And they smell nice.

They smell _very_ nice.

Molly takes a moment to quickly turn his head and press his nose to the collar of the shirt before answering Caleb’s question. He takes a deep breath, drawing the scent down into his lungs, and tries to stop himself from making a happy little purr at the smell that settles through him. All the same, down in the left leg of the jeans, his tail gives a small twitch. The shirt smells _good_. It smells disarmingly good.

Molly is vaguely aware that this might be a problem at some point. He’s fully aware that what he’s smelling is just laundry detergent and the natural scent of Caleb’s magic that clings to his skin and follows in his wake, but it’s still nice. It smells clean and papery and just a little bit smoky, like the last remnants of a woodfire that had been warming a quiet but well-loved library. It makes him feel relaxed. It makes him feel comfortable.

It makes him feel like he should smell it again.

Which, all things considered, he really, really shouldn’t. For starters, it’s more than a bit weird to go around constantly huffing a breath of a shirt collar that isn’t even your own, and it’s doubly weird when the person whose shirt collar it _is_ is an actual witch who accidentally summoned you for gardening-related purposes. Admittedly, in all his remembered time in this body, Molly can’t recall ever being told _not_ to smell the shirt of the witch that summoned you, but he feels like that's something that shouldn’t need saying. It feels like it should be obvious, like ‘don’t pick a fight with a chain devil’, or ‘remember to take your food out of the oven _before_ it catches on fire’, or ‘make sure that shiny ring you find on the street isn't cursed _before_ you pick it up.’ Molly, of course, hasn’t done any of those. Or if he has, not where anyone could see. This is just another one of those instances.

It still feels like it should be a proverb, though. _Don’t smell the shirt of the witch who summoned you_.

From the kitchen there comes a sudden, abrupt clattering sound and Molly yanks his head away from the collar of the shirt with a guilty look that no-one is around to see, that is, besides the gingery tortoiseshell cat watching him silently from its spot on an armchair in the corner. It might just be him, but Molly feels like it’s giving him a judging look. He narrows his eyes slightly.

The cat looks back unblinkingly.

Molly feels like this is a staring match that he is not going to win.

“Mollymauk?” calls Caleb from the kitchen. Molly jumps a little, snapping his attention back towards the other room. Thankfully Caleb still has his back to him, working on filling a kettle and setting it to boil.

Molly clears his throat. “Yeah?”

“I asked if you wanted tea or coffee?”

“Oh!” Molly pauses for a moment. If he’s honest, he has absolutely no idea what material plane coffee is actually like, but it sounds exciting. He’s heard tales of it, and of all the varieties it comes in, but he’s never had the chance to try it. For all he knows, it could be absolutely vile. It could be awful.

It could _kill him_.

Molly comes to a decision. “Coffee, please.”

“Milk or sugar?”

“…Yes.”

Caleb pauses for a moment and then Molly sees his shoulders raise and fall in a small shrug. “I will bring them both through,” he calls back, stretching up on tip-toe to open a cupboard. From what Molly can make out, it’s absolutely jam-packed with mugs of all shapes and sizes; he watches as Caleb peers at them intently, eventually removing two of them with a small, satisfied nod. Molly can only assume that mug selection is of great importance to Caleb. Thinking back to Saturday, though, it could just be that Caleb doesn’t want Molly to indirectly destroy _another_ mug.

Molly drums his fingers against the table again. “You were saying something about a predicament?” he asks.

Caleb nods. “Oh, _ja_ ,” he replies, not looking at Molly as he sets the mugs down on the counter and starts brewing a pot of coffee. As Molly watches, his neck beginning to strain just a little bit, Caleb holds out a hand, muttering a few words to himself, and a small carton of milk zooms to his palm. “This is definitely a – _verdammt_ , this milk is out of date – this definitely falls under the definition of a predicament.”

“How so?”

Caleb gives a short laugh, turning to glance back at Molly over his shoulder. “Are you really asking that?” he asks, his words still half-laughed, and Molly feels himself still as he realises that he’s never seen Caleb actually _laugh_ before.

It’s… honestly, it’s horrifically attractive.

_No_ , Molly tells himself quietly. Caleb shakes his head, turning his attention back to the brewing pot of coffee, and Molly takes the moment to gently whack himself on the wrist. _No. We are not doing this, Tealeaf. We are not_.

It’s been two days. It’s been two days since Caleb accidentally yanked Molly away from his bath and into the material plane, potentially trapping him here for who knows how long, and yet here Molly is, thinking cutesy thoughts about how nice Caleb’s shirt smells and how lovely his laughter is. He knows what he’s like, and he knows that he gets crushes quickly, but even for him this is ridiculous. This is borderline _absurd_.

All the same, he desperately wants to make Caleb laugh again.

Molly hits himself on the wrist again. This is- he’s not doing this. He’s going to look away from Caleb, and from Caleb’s stupid, shiny hair, and his stupid, scruffy jaw, and he’s going to look at something else instead. He looks over at the cat in the armchair. The cat looks back with a gaze that strongly implies that it knows exactly what Molly is thinking.

Molly looks away.

This time, his gaze settles on the large, heavy book that’s still resting at the other end of the table: Caleb’s witch-tome. Molly had picked up on what it was over the weekend, slowly understanding how it acted as a personal, ever-growing repository of Caleb’s notes, and personalised sigils, and anything else unique to him that he might need in his summoning. It looks interesting, and very impressive. Even resting on the table as it is, it seems to have its own sort of gravity, distorting the air around it like a bowling ball on a rubber sheet. Molly wants to learn more about it.

He also kind of wants to try and touch it.

He knows he won’t be able to reach it. He’s still stuck inside the garish hula-hoop, the invisible boundaries of salt preventing him from physically reaching across the table to lay claws on Caleb’s witch-tome, but he wants to poke it all the same. It looks _interesting_ – Caleb had barely strayed from it the entire weekend, constantly flipping through pages adorned with scrawled sigils, and overlapping notes, and fascinatingly beautiful diagrams and runes that would sometimes cover entire pages amongst the pressed and dried plants and flowers. Molly wants to know what’s in it. He wants to read it.

But he can’t. It sits a good metre or so beyond the boundary of the salt, resting on the other end of the dining table. The dark metal adorning the worn leather cover gleams sullenly in the morning sunlight, tantalising shining just outside of Molly’s range. He can’t reach it. He knows that much.

Molly reaches out slightly and presses his fingertips to the boundary of the salt. It tingles beneath his fingers, sending static along his nerves and making him wince slightly, but he holds them there all the same. He’s never actually tested the salt circle, not with intent. He knows that if he leans back against it it will support his weight, occasionally sparking as if to compensate for its lack of physical form, but he’s never tried to cast magic through it.

Molly leans forwards a little, pressing his fingers harder against the boundary. It feels a little bit like frosted glass pressing against his fingertips, smooth and rough all at the same time. It itches.

“Alright,” Molly mutters to himself. He narrows his eyes, frowning slightly, and quickly glances up into the kitchen. Caleb is still moving around preparing breakfast, humming to himself quietly. It’s almost annoyingly charming. Molly’s not going to let it distract him, though, even if Caleb’s hair _is_ very shiny in the sunlight, and even if he _does_ look particularly attractive with the sleeves of his henley pushed up to the elbows. Molly’s not going to be distracted. Not at all. He’s just going to watch Caleb for a few seconds longer to make sure that he’s definitely entirely engrossed in making breakfast and for _no other reason_ , and then he’s going to look back at the book, glance back at Caleb to double check, and then try to forget everything that he’s ever heard about salt circles and try to cast a spell through one.

Molly gathers his magic in his palm, presses his hands flat to the salt boundary, and _shoves_.

Immediately, two things happen.

The first is that the witch-tome gives a weak, feeble twitch and moves approximately one inch _away_ from Molly.

The second is that there’s a sudden, sharp shower of purple and silver sparks as the vast majority of his magic rebounds against the salt, flings itself into the air, and resettles in Molly’s fingers.

“Ow,” Molly says, “ _fuck_.”

From the kitchen comes the sound of Caleb’s confused voice. “Mollymauk?”

Molly sticks his finger in his mouth, desperately trying to ease the sting before replying. “’M fine!” he calls back, the words slightly muffled.

There’s a few moments of silence.

And then, from the kitchen, Molly hears a soft sigh and the sound of approaching footsteps. He glances up to see Caleb nearing the table with a tray of toast and tea in his hands and a disapproving, but still slightly concerned expression on his face.

“What did you do?” he asks, setting the tray down next to his witch-tome. He glances at it, seemingly noticing how it’s been moved slightly out of position, and then looks back at Molly. “ _Mollymauk_.”

Molly does his very best to look innocent. From the look on Caleb’s face, it’s probably safe to assume that it doesn’t work. “What?”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

Caleb’s look grows more disbelieving. He sits down at the table, picks up a mug of tea in a very pointed way, and raises an eyebrow. It’s a very judgemental eyebrow.

Molly sighs. “I tried to move your witch-tome…”

“Can I ask why?” Caleb asks, in a tone that makes it clear that he’s going to ask whether Molly wants him too or not.

Molly sighs again. “It looked… well, it looked all interesting! I wanted to know what was in it.”

“But- you cannot reach it, surely. You are in the hula-hoop.”

“I _am_ in the hula-hoop,” Molly mutters, inspecting his fingertips, “as I am _very_ aware.”

“So what did you-” Caleb begins, cutting himself off as he tries to form the question he so badly wants to ask. “What did- how did- what did you _do_ , Mollymauk? Salt is supposed to contain demonic magic.”

“It does,” Molly informs him absently. His fingers look to be alright – he’s resistant to fire so they’re definitely not burned, but they still sting. He nods to himself as he turns them from side to side. Everything looks to be in order.

And then he turns his hand around, and groans.

“Mollymauk?”

“I fucked up my nail polish,” Molly says mournfully. The shimmering, opalescent polish that had somehow managed to remain perfect and unchipped over a weekend of attempted banishments is, in Molly’s expert opinion, _completely_ ruined now. It’s flaking off along the edges, like the recoil from the salt had managed to slip between nail and polish and push it away, and as Molly moves his hand another flake falls off and drifts down to the table.

When Molly looks up at Caleb, the witch looks less than impressed.

“You fucked up your nail polish?” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. Molly had previously thought that eyebrows couldn’t get more judgemental than the one that Caleb had given him earlier. Clearly, he had thought wrong.

He nods all the same, though, and turns his hand so that Caleb can see. “Look, see, right at the tip.”

Caleb leans in a little closer. “…Uh-huh,” he says after a moment, “and you chipped it _how_?”

Molly sighs, going back to inspecting his hand. “I was trying to cast a small, tiny, barely noticeable little spell to get your witch-tome close enough that I could touch it,” he says. Damn, and he hasn’t even got his polishes with him. Or any nail polish remover, which means that he’s going to have to hang around with chipped nail polish for the next day _at least_. Caleb’s already mentioned that he plans to take this day more in a ‘research and making Mollymauk comfortable’ way, as opposed to the weekend's ‘try anything and everything to send Molly home until we nearly pass out from exhaustion’ approach. From what Molly can tell, ‘making Mollymauk comfortable’ so far involves awkwardly sigil-rigging the bathroom so that he can take a quick shower, lending him Caleb’s clothes, and making him breakfast. It’s a degree of comfort that he feels he could quite easily get used to.

Across the table, Caleb is still watching him quietly. “You were casting a spell?” he asks. Molly nods.

“Yeah. Just a small one.”

“You know you are-”

“I’m in salt, yeah, I know,” Molly says with a sigh. He finally drops his hand to his lap, propping his other elbow up on the table and resting his chin in his hand as he looks over at Caleb. “I just wanted to try anyway. You never know what might happen.”

Caleb gives a slight, knowing smirk. “Well, I am sure that you know now.”

Molly frowns back at him. “What I _know_ is that casting a spell outside a salt circle when you are _inside_ a salt circle will, apparently, cause most of it to reflect off the salt and chip your nail polish, and if any of it manages to make it through the circle it won’t do nearly as much as you were hoping.”

Caleb frowns. That’s… worrying. He’d always known that raw salt circles weren’t nearly as good at containing demons as full-component circles, but they’d always done enough. The fact that Mollymauk can, apparently, get even a small hint of magic through the salt crystals is deeply unsettling. “I… see,” he says slowly. “Did it, ah… did the spell do what you wanted?”

“Kind of?” Molly raises one shoulder in a shrug. He doesn’t see any reason to lie to Caleb, not when Caleb has clearly already worked out what Molly did. “I was hoping to ideally push the tome towards me, but as you can see that didn’t quite work.” As is evidenced by how the tome is now farther away from him than it was before. “But I figured it was still worth a shot. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know?”

“Oh, _ja_ , I know.” Caleb gives a small sigh, looking from Molly to the tome and then back again. It’s still concerning that Molly was able to affect it at all, but it also does seem like very little actually happened. And besides, Caleb’s already planning on making a more customised containment circle for Molly. That, hopefully should put the end to any more spell attempts.

His mind settled, Caleb starts passing Molly his breakfast dishes. It’s only a simple breakfast of toast and jam and coffee, but Molly’s not complaining. It’s a lot more than he thought he was going to get, after all.

“Your coffee,” Caleb says, holding the mug out to Molly. Molly takes it, trying to hide his curious peek inside the mug behind an impression of being a demon who _absolutely_ knows what coffee is, and has definitely had it before.

“Thank you, Caleb,” he says graciously.

“The, ah, the milk was out of date, but I have sugar if you want it.”

Molly waves the offered container away. To his nose the coffee already smells pretty damn good – he can’t imagine that it would need sugar. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Caleb frowns a little. “But you said…” he starts before suddenly trailing off. His piercing blue eyes flit from Molly’s face to the mug in his hands and then back. A slow smile grows over his face. It’s almost uncomfortably _knowing._ “Alright,” Caleb says slowly. “You take your coffee black, then?”

_I do now_. “Oh, absolutely,” Molly chirps. “It’s the best way to enjoy the, um, the _natural flavour_ of it.”

“Uh-huh,” Caleb says. “Well, it is only instant coffee, but I hope you enjoy it all the same, Mollymauk.”

“I’m sure I will, Caleb.” Molly smiles politely, raises the mug to his lips, and takes a sip of the dark steaming liquid.

“Oh, _gods_.”

It’s _vile_.

Molly fights not to spit it back into the cup as the coffee hits his tongue, doing his absolute utmost to maintain the façade of an avid coffee lover.

Across the table from him, Caleb just smiles at him again. “Good?” he asks, just a little bit teasingly.

Molly coughs and forces himself to swallow. “Yup,” he says hoarsely, “great. Just how I like it.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Hmm.” Caleb gives a short huff of laughter and then stands, shaking his head a little. “I’ll get you a glass of water,” he says, holding out his hand from Molly’s mug.

After a few seconds, Molly passes it to him.

“Thanks,” he mutters. Caleb disappears into the kitchen, returning a moment later to place a glass of water down in front of Molly. Molly takes a long drink from it, washing the taste of coffee from his mouth as best he can, and then the two of them lapse into silence as they eat breakfast.

“We need to do something about this,” Caleb says suddenly, after several minutes of uninterrupted eating.

Molly looks up at him, mid-bite through a slice of toast. “Mmf?” he asks eloquently. He chews quickly and swallows. “Sorry, what? About what?”

Caleb waves a hand at the hula-hoop. “ _This_ ,” he says, sighing. “It is- this is getting ridiculous, Mollymauk. We cannot continue to shepherd you around the house in a- in a _hula-hoop_. It is inconvenient for both of us and undignified for you, and I cannot imagine that it is comfortable.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” Molly admits.

“And we need to get you some clothes of your own,” Caleb adds. He glances briefly over Molly – it might just be Molly’s imagination, but he thinks he sees Caleb colour slightly before he looks away. “We- you cannot keep on wearing my clothes while you are here, Mollymauk.”

Well. _Technically_ Molly is very certain that he _can_ , but he’s not going to say that. He finishes his toast and leans forward, propping both elbows up on the table and resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. “I suppose not,” he says quietly. “So, Mr Caleb, what do you suggest?”

“Well…” Caleb begins slowly. “I was thinking about some options last night, after we both went to bed. We know that we have a containment circle that works for you, and as well-behaved as you have been, Mollymauk, I hope that you can understand why I am not entirely willing to let you just go wandering around on your own.”

Molly frowns a little. He _does_ understand, kind of. He’s heard tale of a few boasting, bragging stories from other demons on how they managed to break containment and wreak havoc, but he’s never quite understood why they would want to do that. It’s just causing mess and damage and possibly _harm_ to another person who probably didn’t deserve it. To be fair, they might have deserved it. Molly doesn’t know. He just knows that he wouldn’t do that kind of thing, and he was apparently subconsciously hoping that Caleb would realise that.

Apparently, Caleb doesn’t.

“Sorry,” Molly says slowly, trying hard to stop his words from coming across as too wounded, “but I _don’t_ understand.”

Caleb smiles slightly. “Oh,” he says breezily, “you know. Demons are not supposed to exist on this plane of being. Untethered demons are constantly at the risk of creating inter- and intra-planar micro-tears which could potentially widen into something large enough for a planar beast to slip through and start re-adjusting the very laws of physics as we know them. Not to mention the ooze and mess they leave behind. And the void-spaces in planes.”

Molly blinks. This was not what he was expecting Caleb to say. Not at all. “Void-spaces?”

“Oh, _ja_ , void-spaces. They can happen around normal summoning circles but they are much rarer there,” Caleb continues enthusiastically, his eyes lighting up. He leans forwards, trailing a fingertip across the polish surface of the table as if marking something out. “’Void-space’ is a bit of a dramatic term for them, really. They are closer too, ah… _odd_ spots, if you will. It takes a very, very powerful planar beast to actually do anything particularly dramatic, but even little ones or the tears themselves can create void-spaces. A void-space is simply an area where things are not quite as they should be. Liminal places, cold spots, things that you think _could_ be moving shadows at the corner of your vision. They are all simply places were micro-tears between planes have occurred. Humans are not meant to see or interact with them, and so we get confused and end up feeling all strange and unsettled.”

“Like a chill down your spine?” Molly asks.

Caleb nods. “ _Ja_!” he says delightedly. “ _Ja_ , yes, exactly that, Mollymauk! We cannot see micro-tears but we can _feel_ them, and because most people do not know what they are they come up with all sorts of reasons to explain them away. They are _fascinating_ things, really.”

Molly leans forwards a little bit more. He can’t help himself – Caleb feels almost _magnetic_ with the strength of his enthusiasm and clear, obvious delight over getting to explain this thing to Molly. Molly doesn’t think he’s seen Caleb this animated since he first arrived, and it’s a good look on him. It’s a _very_ good look. The enthusiasm seems to be wiping away the last two days’ worth of accumulated tiredness and stress, making Caleb’s already annoyingly bright and pretty blue eyes shine and sparkle even more. Molly can feel himself lean forwards even more, until he can feel the salt humming just a few inches away from his skin.

“Yeah?” he asks, tilting his head to one side slightly with a small smile. “I mean, you definitely sound very interested in them. I’d never even heard of them before.”

“You have not heard of micro-tears?”

“Nope.”

“Well,” Caleb says, seeming a little surprised, “they are- they are very interesting.”

Molly gives a short huff of laughter. “I was getting that impression a bit, yeah. You seem rather excited about them.”

“I am! They are _fascinating_ things, Mollymauk!” Caleb says enthusiastically. “So little is known about them – I would love to find a way to research them and see what they could be used for, and to- to… oh.” Abruptly, Caleb falls silent, cutting himself off. As Molly watches his face falls slightly, his hands lowering to once around wrap around his mug. “I… I’m sorry, Mollymauk, I was rambling.”

Oh, _fuck_.

Fuck. _Fuck_. Caleb shouldn’t- he can’t- he shouldn’t be allowed to look that fucking attractive and sad at the same time. Molly watches a small divot form between Caleb’s eyebrows as he frowns, his fingers tapping gently against the outside of the mug. “I, ah, I have a tendency to… go on a bit,” Caleb continues, his voice suddenly lacking all of its previous enthusiasm. “I do apologise, Mollymauk. I know it can get rather boring.”

“ _No_ ,” Molly finds himself saying. “No, no, Caleb, it was really interesting! It was extremely interesting!” _You looked so happy when you were talking about it_. Molly likes people being happy. He likes _making_ people happy. He likes seeing people getting fired up and enthusiastic over their interests and it seems that he likes that extra if the person in question is an annoyingly handsome witch with fuzzy arms, and a scruffy beard, and a pendant to the Archheart dangling around his neck. Molly widens his eyes a little, doing his best to let his genuine interest show on his face. “Really, Caleb. You don’t need to apologise for that. I was really enjoying it.”

“…Oh,” Caleb says quietly. He looks up from the coiling steam about his mug, meeting Molly’s gaze with a hopeful smile. “Really? Because Beau tends to get annoyed if I start talking about cats for too long.”

“Really,” Molly says. As far as he’s concerned, he could listen to Caleb recite a dictionary. Caleb’s voice is nice. It’s very nice. It’s soft and a little bit rough and it’s got the most wonderful accent to it, and it had only sounded even better when Caleb had started to talk faster and more excitedly. Molly doesn’t want to lose that enthusiasm in Caleb’s voice. “Caleb, darling, _please_ tell me all about your strange witch magic things that I, a humble demon of the Nine Hells, know nothing about.”

Caleb gives him a small smile. “If you really want…” he says hopefully.

“I really do,” Molly says again. For good measure, he bats his eyelashes. He feels it would be more effective with all six eyes on show, but it equally well could be more off-putting. For now, he’s going to play it safe. Caleb seems alright with the purple skin, and the purple hair, and the red eyes, and the split tail, but Molly feels like six colour-changing eyes might be pushing his luck a bit. Hells, he doesn’t even think Caleb knows that they change colour yet.

“Well,” Caleb replies, his smile growing slightly, “I- alright. I will tell you more about micro-tears, Molly. But later.”

“Later?”

“We were talking about letting you walk around,” Caleb reminds him.

“Oh!” Molly exclaims. “Oh, yes! That! You said you’d come up with something?”

Caleb makes a so-so gesture with one hand. “Ahh, sort of? I have… I have found a few possible solutions, but I will need to look into them further. This is a very unusual situation that we find ourselves in, Mollymauk. There is not a lot of material on internally-moveable containment circles. But let me think on it,” he adds. He looks down, fiddling with his mug for a second, and then looks back up at Molly with a surprisingly determined expression. “I’ll figure something out.”

Molly smiles at him. “Caleb,” he says honestly, “I have every faith that you will.”

\---

Caleb does figure something out.

It takes the better part of the morning and afternoon for him to find even a hint of something that could be useful amongst his numerous collected tomes; to Mollymauk, watching from a couch that Caleb and Beau had dragged through and placed on the re-chalked tarpaulin, it looks rather like Caleb is attempting to construct some sort of strange book-based fort around himself as more and more volumes are pulled off the shelves and added to the stacks surrounding the table.

By the time evening has rolled around though Caleb has gone from desperately flicking through pages, to collecting ingredients and items from the house’s assorted pantries, to muttering to himself quietly in what Molly has been informed is Zemnian. He’s been fiddling with _something_ for the better part of an hour now, the area behind the book-fort lit occasionally by a flash of bright amber-gold magic or the soft glow of a candle, and Molly’s beginning to get more than a little bit curious.

“Caleb?” he calls. Caleb gives a quiet, absent hum, and doesn’t reply. Molly sighs. “Caleb?” he asks again. When no reply comes he gives another sigh, starting to shift to the other end of the couch. They’d done some rearranging of furniture and tarpaulins earlier in the day after Molly had expressed an interest in watching Caleb work, and for the last hour or so he’s been leaning against one arm of the couch, lazily playing with a small hand-held gaming device that Nott had lent him. But he’s bored of that now. There’s _magic_ going on, and he wants to know what Caleb is up to.

Molly grabs a scrap of paper off the floor, balls it up, and flicks it at Caleb. “ _Caleb_!”

This seems to get Caleb’s attention.

He sits up a little, looking at Molly with a slightly glazed expression. “Hm?”

“I’m bored,” Molly says. “What’re you doing?”

“I am- I am working on your containment circle, Mollymauk,” Caleb replies, seeming a bit confused. He lifts something up from behind the book-fort. It looks, to Molly, like a twisted bundle of string woven through with a few ribbons and herbs, braided to about half-way through. “See?”

Molly blinks at it. “…What’s that?”

“Your containment circle,” Caleb repeats, giving the bundle a small shake. In accordance with the laws of physics, it looks no more circular than it did before Caleb shook it.

“Uh-huh,” Molly says slowly. “Forgive me for saying this, love, but that doesn’t exactly look like a circle. And it looks a little small.” It definitely looks smaller than the hula-hoop, and that’s already bad enough. Molly doesn’t _hate_ the hula-hoop, not exactly, but he’d definitely be grateful if he never had to see that shade of yellow ever again for as long as he lives. That shade of yellow will haunt his nightmares, he’s sure of it.

“Well, it is not a circle yet,” Caleb says, unaware of what’s going on in Molly’s head. “This is step one, you see.” He pauses, looking down at the bundle in his hand. “Or possibly step nine… there is not a guide for what I have been doing. I must have lost track of the steps at some point. But, anyway, this will be a circle soon enough.”

“How?”

In answer Caleb takes hold of both ends of the bundle. He twists it a few more times and then folds it so that the two ends meet, forming a small loop.

“Oh,” Molly says. He frowns at it. It looks much, _much_ smaller than the hula hoop. “It still looks awfully small.”

Caleb shrugs. “ _Ja_ , well, you will not be standing inside this. This is going to be a bracelet for you.”

That’s enough to get Molly’s attention.

He sits up straighter on the couch, leaning forwards until he can just about feel the edge of the tarpaulin circle tingling threateningly against his skin. “A _bracelet_?”

“ _Ja_!” Caleb replies. “That way it will be very portable, and you will not need myself or Beauregard or Nott to help you move around.”

“Can I see?”

“Of course, just come over to the table.”

There’s a pause. Caleb looks at Molly. Molly looks very pointedly at the tarpaulin. The tarpaulin does nothing.

“Oh,” Caleb says eventually. “Oh. _Ja_. Right.” He looks around, frowning to himself, and then stands up. “Okay,” he says, “this is- I will just… wait just a moment, Mollymauk.”

There’s a horrible dragging, scraping sound as Caleb pulls the table over the floor towards Molly. Molly winces a little, watching with no small amount of concern as the books stacked high on the table wobble dangerously, but Caleb mutters _something_ under his breath and suddenly the books are held still, supported by a glowing frame of golden magic. After a minute or so, Caleb comes to a stop with the table sitting just outside the boundary of the tarpaulin – it’s not close enough for Molly to touch, but he can much more easily see what’s been going on behind the book fort. He can see the empty mugs, and the scattered spell ingredients, and the eventual-bracelet that Caleb is working on.

Caleb sits back down, taking a moment to push his sleeves back up. Molly doesn’t stare. Or, if he does, he does it safe in the knowledge that his pupil-less eyes make it impossible for Caleb to notice. Caleb doesn’t seem to be paying much attention, though; he’s picked up the half-braided bundle and has put one end of it between his teeth, the unbraided end stretching out before him.

“This,” Caleb says, his words a little muffled by the lengths of string held between his teeth, “is going to be your portable containment circle.”

Molly frowns. “Like… like the hula-hoop?”

“ _Ja_.”

“…Caleb, you know I can’t move outside the hula-hoop, right?”

“Oh, _ja_ , I know.” Caleb pulls the string away from him, his fingers moving rapidly as he continues to braid the lengths of cord together. “But this is – _Scheisse_ – this is a- a variation of a circle.” He finally spits out the length of string and holds up the braided length, inspecting it critically. To Molly, it looks like nothing more than an inexpertly braided cluster of string, a little wonky in places and about two feet in length. “This should act as a, ah, containment holder of sorts. It is… it… well, if it works it should prevent you from accidentally opening any micro-tears in this plane as you will _technically_ be existing just to the side of this plane. By about… oh, say two degrees? Maybe three? So, it will stop you from disrupting the fabric of reality here, and in doing so it will stop your magic from reaching this plane, though you will still be able to interact with it!” Caleb smiles down at the twisted fibres in his hand, looking rather pleased with himself, and then looks back up at Molly. “You see?”

“…No,” Molly says after a pause, once he’s managed to get his brain back in order. “I- if I’m honest Caleb, I lost you about after the word ‘circle.’” What the fuck does it mean to exist two degrees _off_ to one side of a plane anyway? Or three degrees? Molly doesn’t know, but he’s pretty certain that he’s not going to find out. “Just let me know: will it let me walk around or not?”

Caleb nods enthusiastically. “Oh, _ja_ , _ja_ , absolutely! You will be able to go anywhere you wish.”

“…Anywhere?”

“ _Ja_.”

“Wait,” Molly says, “you’re giving me unrestricted movement?”

“Oh, only within the house,” Caleb says, as if that makes the situation any less baffling. “I have had sigils set up around the building for the last few years. You should not be able to pass them without me opening a door for you.” He waves a hand, magic glowing gold beneath his palm, and holds it over the braid. “But _ja_ , once you are outside you will be able to go where you please.”

Molly blinks. “ _What_?”

Caleb looks over at him with a confused frown. “Do you… do you _not_ like that?” he asks, sounding just as baffled as Molly feels, and Molly quickly shakes his head.

“No, no!” he says, “I’m just- y’know, most demons aren’t exactly given free rein to wander wherever they please, Caleb. It’s a bit unusual is all I’m saying.” Unusual, sure, but he’s definitely not complaining about it. Far from it, in fact – and a weekend and the better part of a day alternating between trapped in a summoning circle and being trapped in a _hula-hoop_ , the idea of being able to walk wherever he pleases, whenever he pleases, is a very tempting one. He just doesn’t understand _why_ Caleb is even considering the possibility. He’s a demon, after all! He’s an actual, real, proper demon from the Nine Hells, complete with horns, and a tail, and eyes that change colour with his mood. He is, by the very nature of his being, dangerous to this plane of existence. He knows that he wouldn’t do anything to cause havoc beyond maybe _occasionally_ using his magic to make something zoom around, but Caleb shouldn’t know that.

After all, he’s only been here for three days.

“What if I- what if I cast a spell, Caleb?” he asks. “What then?” He doesn’t know why he’s arguing for the witch’s side. The smart thing to do right now would be to shut up, and let Caleb finish making whatever it is that he’s making, and then enjoy being more or less completely unfettered on the material plane.

Still, Molly has never claimed to be a smart man.

Across from him, Caleb glances up to give him a small smile. “It won’t work,” he says simply. “The bracelet will only let you cast spells on yourself, Mollymauk. Anything else and it will be deflected like it would inside a salt circle.” He pauses and then adds, almost as an afterthought, “probably.”

“ _Probably_?”

Caleb shrugs, turning his attention back to items laid out before him. “From what I could find, Mollymauk, a circle of this nature has never been constructed before, so I am working from theoreticals. In theory this should work, though. It should allow you to interact with the world and move freely through it without being able to cast any spells beyond your own body. So, if you were to cast a glamour on yourself then that would be fine, but you would not be able to, for example, attempt to move my witch-tome with magic.” He gives Molly another small smile. “A random example, of course.”

Molly can’t help it – he smiles back. “Of course,” he agrees, resting his chin on one hand. “And – forgive me for playing devil’s advocate here, Caleb, but it is rather what I’m made to do – what if it _doesn’t_ work?”

“It will.”

Molly narrows his eyes slightly. “How can you be so sure?”

Caleb smiles again, and it’s a different smile to any that Molly has seen before. Normally when Caleb smiles it’s a bit shy, or a bit nervous, or in some way gives the impression that Caleb is uncertain about what he’s talking about, like he’s worried that at any moment someone might come along and shut him down. This smile isn’t like that. It’s a small one, barely tugging on the corners of Caleb’s mouth, but it speaks volumes in confidence. “Because,” Caleb says simply, “I am very, _very_ good at my job.”

Molly feels his mouth grow dry. “Oh,” he says, just a little bit breathlessly. “Oh. O-okay.”

Caleb gives a quiet hum and returns to his magic. “As soon as I have finished this for you,” he adds, not looking up as amber magic sinks and settles amongst the strands, “then I will take you clothes shopping. So that you do not have to keep on borrowing from me.”

Unthinkingly Molly turns his head a little, and catches another inhale of the collar of Caleb’s shirt. For some stupid, _ridiculous_ reason that he’s _not_ going to think about too much, he’s not as delighted by what Caleb just said as he thought he’d be. He quite likes Caleb’s clothes. They’re comfortable. He definitely does _not_ like them because they smell like a handsome, scruffy, stunningly skilled and competent witch. That, very clearly, has absolutely nothing to do with any of this.

“Do you think you’ll be able to finish it tonight?” Molly asks, focusing very hard on not thinking about how nice Caleb’s clothes smell, and how nice Caleb himself might smell. “It’d be nice to stretch my legs without you or Beau having to move the hoop.”

Caleb nods and look up at Molly. Beneath his fingers the last dregs of magic settle into the woven bracelet. “I hope so,” he says quietly. “Just be patient for a little while longer, Mollymauk. We might have to go through a few variations of this to find one that works, but that should not take too long.” He pauses and then adds, “I hope.”

_I hope so too_ , Molly thinks. He rolls onto his stomach, resting his arms on the armrest of the couch, and watches as, over the next half an hour, Caleb finishes braiding and enchanting the bracelet to his liking.

“ _There_ ,” Caleb says with a certain degree of pride, holding the finished untied bracelet out before him. It’s a bit of a scruffy bracelet, in Molly’s opinion – he can see a few frayed edges, and a couple of places were the braid has twisted in on itself – but it doesn’t actually look _bad_. And if wearing a slightly scruffy bracelet is all he has to do to gain some degree of freedom then he’ll happily take it. Hells, he’d take it even if it was hula-hoop yellow.

…On second thoughts, he might _not_ take it if it was hula-hoop yellow.

Molly sits up on the sofa, leaning as close to the table as possible. “Is it done?” he asks, feeling his tail making small, excited swishes through the air.

Caleb nods, holding it out to him. “It should be,” he says. “If this has worked then you should be able to hold it and put your hand through the circle.”

Molly feels his tail swishing harder. He reaches out towards Caleb, doing his very best not to make actual grabby-hands at him. “Can I-?”

“Oh, _ja_ , of course!” Caleb hands the braided length to Molly, their fingers brushing as it passes from one to the other. Now that he’s holding it Molly can feel that the string it’s made from is slightly rougher than he thought – it rubs against his skin a little, but not in an unpleasant way. He rolls it between his fingers for a moment and then closes his fist around it before reaching out towards the boundary of the circle.

There’s a brief, breathless moment as he feels the tingle of salt and sigils approach his skin.

There’s a brief pause right before the boundary.

There’s a small inhale as, with barely a sting, Molly’s hand passes clear through the perimeter of the circle.

“Oh,” Molly says. “Oh! Caleb!” He looks up at him, grinning delightedly. “It works!”

“I told you it would,” Caleb replies, sitting back in his chair as Molly inspects the bracelet in more detail. “As I said – I am _very_ good when it comes to magic.”

“And I never doubted you,” Molly says. He wraps the bracelet around his wrist – it’s just long enough to be looped around twice before needing to be tied, and he’s part way through struggling to tie it one-handed when he hears Caleb give a small cough, and looks up at him.

“Would you, ah… would you like a hand with putting it on?” Caleb asks quietly.

Molly looks over at him. Caleb looks a little uncertain, shifting a little in his chair, and beneath the freckles on his cheeks Molly thinks he can see the first hints of a blush.

It’s unspeakably endearing.

“Please,” he says, passing the bracelet to Caleb.

Caleb takes it. He leans across the boundary of the circle, carefully taking Molly’s wrist in one hand. His fingers are soft and warm against Molly’s skin, gently brushing over it as he meticulously ties the bracelet in place.

“All done,” he says a few moments later, his hand falling away. Molly looks down.

There, wrapped around his wrist, is a braided band of twine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art of Molly in this chapter was done by the every-lovely [Grace](https://nonsycamore.tumblr.com/), and the gorgeous book cover piece was down by the wonderful [Vi](https://www.instagram.com/thegrumpyfrumpy/)!


	5. Chapter 5

The bracelet works.

More than that: somehow, it works even better than Caleb had possibly hoped for. He runs through a few tests with Molly before fully freeing him from the magical containment of the circle – while Molly is able to move through the circle with the bracelet on his wrist, the sigils chalked onto the sheet beneath him still prevent his spells from passing through it. Caleb has him move a few small items with and without the bracelet and checks that he can still cast glamours on himself with it on; the first glamour that Molly chooses to cast is one that makes him look exactly like Caleb, to his own great amusement and Caleb’s resignation. It’s a tiring evening but a good one, and when Caleb finally breaks the circle, letting Molly make his own way up to bed, it’s in much higher spirits than the previous night.

And so, in a celebration of the bracelet’s success, Caleb takes Molly shopping the next day.

Molly is practically vibrating with excitement as the two of them finish breakfast, his tail swishing as much as it can inside the confines of his jeans. It’s a strange sight to see, Caleb thinks absently as he finishes washing up their dishes. It looks rather like Molly’s leg has decided to have a very small party localised entirely to the left calf. Honestly, it’s a little bit unsettling to see the denim shifting and moving like there’s something scurrying around inside it, but Caleb can’t keep that thought in his mind for long, because, although his leg might look a bit weird, the rest of Molly just looks adorable.

“When are we leaving?” he asks, tapping his nails against the table top. He’s dressed in almost the same clothes as yesterday, having rejected Caleb’s offering of a sweater with the quiet explanation that his horns would likely shred the collar, and once again he looks annoyingly good in Caleb’s clothes. His expression only adds to that; Caleb doesn’t think he’s seen Molly this excited since he arrived on this plane, and it’s much more disarming than he feels it should be. “And can I get nail polish?” Molly continues. “Please? My nails are still chipped and it looks _dreadful_. And if I can’t get nail polish can I get nail polish remover? And what’s your stance on purchasing makeup? Because I had just bought a _gorgeous_ gold eyeliner that I already miss and-”

“We can leave soon,” Caleb interrupts. He grabs a tea towel ( _not_ the elephant print one which still needs to be washed) and quickly dries his hands off, sitting back down in his abandoned chair. “We just need to go over a few ground rules.”

Molly falls silent immediately. He sits up straighter, clasping his hands together in front of him, and seems to do everything in his power to give the impression of being a model student. “What are they?”

Caleb lifts a finger. “One: no causing trouble. I know that you are a demon, Mollymauk, and I do not like to stereotype, but you do have a reputation. So, please; be quiet, and calm, and sensible, and try not to get us thrown out of any shops, _ja_?”

Molly nods, though he’s frowning a little. “Alright.”

“Good.” Caleb lifts another finger. “Rule two: Stay close to me. No wandering off. I will be happy to take you to any part of the store, but please do not start running off somewhere. If you want to go somewhere, ask. I do not want to have to restrain you, Mollymauk, but I will if I need to.”

Molly doesn’t reply immediately. He swallows, his eyes darting to Caleb’s hand, and, confusingly, Caleb thinks he sees his cheeks darken beneath his lavender skin. “Okay,” he says eventually. To Caleb’s ears, his voice sounds a little bit hoarse. “I- alright.”

Caleb frowns. “Do you need a drink?”

“No,” Molly says quickly. He gives a small cough, looking away before replying. “No, thank you, I’m quite alright.”

“Okay…” Caleb says slowly. _How odd_ … “Anyway, rule number three: if you are leaving the house, you must always be under a glamour. You cannot go outside looking like, you know…” He waves a hand at Molly’s lavender skin, purple hair, red eyes, and his curling, twisting horns. “ _You know_.”

Molly frowns. “Like what?”

“Like…” Caleb waves his hand again.

“ _What?_ ” Molly repeats, sounding genuinely confused.

Caleb sighs. “Like a _demon_ , Mollymauk. We are- people would not react well if they saw you. We do not have demons here.”

“Nott and Beau and Jester were fine with me.”

“Nott and Beau and Jester are _witches_ ,” Caleb explains. “Or at least they are, ah, members of the magical community. I think Beau is closer to a wizard, if I am entirely honest. But, either way, we are accustomed to the existence of demons. The majority of people are not.”

Molly pouts a little. “That sounds boring.”

“We only have humans.”

“ _Really_ boring. Do you not even have devils? Lemures? Goblins? Anything interesting at _all_?”

“We have cats,” Caleb says, feeling a little offended. “But in terms of sentient beings it is just us humans. We do not have other races, at least not in real life. There’s plenty in fiction, though.”

Molly sighs. “Dull,” he says again, “but fine, yes, I’ll wear a glamour.”

“Thank you.”

“Should I glamour as anyone in particular?” Molly asks, stretching his arms over his head. “I could glamour as Beau. Or, well, a taller Beau. Or a very tall Nott.”

That’s a thought.

Caleb drums his fingers against the table, thinking for a moment. It’s an interesting suggestion – Molly doesn’t seem to have had much experience with humans, and if his idea of ‘normal’ is purple skin, tails, and rather pointy incisors, then Caleb is almost concerned about what he might come up with as a glamour to be a ‘normal’ human. Beau, Jester, and Nott are all safe bets. Well, Beau and Jester are safe bets. Nott is… Nott. For all that she’s highly adept at lurking in shadows and scaring the absolute shit of out Caleb when he heads downstairs for some breakfast at 2am after a night of research, there’s also something about her that tends to make people give her funny looks. So maybe not Nott.

And, on further contemplation, not Jester or Beau either. While he could give them both warning that he’s taking Molly into town to go shopping today, the chance of encountering them, while very slim, is still present. Caleb doesn’t know who else might be around. He doesn’t know who else might see them. He doesn’t know who might see Beau, and then see _another_ Beau, and realise, the same way that he can feel beneath his skin that Molly isn’t human, that the Beau’s are not just twins.

Caleb gives his head a small shake. Molly disguising himself as someone who already exists is too dangerous. And after everything that’s happened, Caleb is much too careful for that.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that it would be best if you disguise yourself as a random human, Mollymauk.” He glances up for long enough to see Molly nod and then continues. “But, please do be aware that we do not have, ah, _interesting_ skin tones such as you do. Or eye colours. Or hair colours.”

“Jester’s hair was blue,” Molly points out.

“She dyed it. It is normally black.”

“…Can you dye hair purple?”

“ _Ja_.”

“Wonderful,” Molly says, beaming widely. He pushes his chair back, standing up from the table and rubbing his hands together. “Alright! Let’s see what I can do.” He slaps his hands together, shuts his eyes, and then, between one breath and the next, he changes. The air around him seems to shimmer; for a moment, it feels as if the entire world has shifted, twisting in on itself, and then the sensation passes and Molly is… different.

It’s not a bad different. It’s a good different. It’s exactly what Caleb asked for, but despite that he can’t stop a sense of uncertainty from rising in his gut as he actually thinks about stepping outside and into a shop with a demon in tow.

Molly must notice it. “Caleb?” he asks. “You alright?”

“ _Ja, ja_ ,” Caleb mutters. The glamour is good. The glamour is _fine_. But, just beyond it, he can _feel_ traces of… something. Of something non-human. “I am just- I am- no, I am fine. I am fine.”

“Caleb,” Molly says again, more reassuringly, “it’s going to be just fine. I’m in glamour, see? No one will know that you have a demon with you.”

Caleb shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. It is, he will admit, a _very_ good glamour – he regularly casts glamours on himself, but thanks to the fact that he is already a human he rarely has to do much to significantly change his appearance.

Molly, on the other hand…

If it weren’t for the tattoos still on his skin, Caleb could very well be convinced that the person standing before him had absolutely nothing to do with the demon who’d arrived naked in his home three very, _very_ long days ago. Molly’s horns have completely vanished, and Caleb can only assume that his tail is hidden too – last he saw it was tucked down one of Molly’s trouser legs, but Caleb isn’t going to look too closely at that… area. His eyes are no longer flat and red; instead, they’re a soft grey colour, bright and clear, and his skin is no longer lavender but instead a dark, rich brown colour similar to Beau’s complexion which somehow only makes his tattoos stand out more. They lie against his skin in a thousand shades of teal and blue, coiling down his arms and out of the end of the rolled-up sleeves of one of Caleb’s flannels.

It’s a good look on him. It’s a _really_ good look.

If he’s honest, Caleb’s not sure if he’s talking about the glamour or the flannel.

“What do you think?” Molly asks.

Caleb yanks his gaze away from where it was resting on Molly’s hands and does his very best to meet his gaze. “About- about what?” he asks, clearing his throat quickly and hoping that Molly doesn’t notice the heat in his cheeks.

Molly grins wider. “About the glamour?”

“Oh.” _Of course_. Caleb looks away and shrugs, doing his best to look entirely unaffected. “It’s… you know, it’s good. It’s fine.”

“Just _fine_?”

Caleb looks back at Molly. The demon before him is smiling in an altogether much too knowing way, one hand brushing his still-purple hair back from his face. The light falls across his skin, catching on the peacock feathers and the grey of his eyes and turning them, for a split second, a thousand shades of gold. He looks almost annoying good; he simultaneously manages to look just like Molly and not at all like Molly, and Caleb doesn’t know what to do with that. He knows what he wants to do. He’s _very_ aware of what he wants to do.

Unfortunately, there is absolutely no way that he will do what he wants to do, and so he doesn’t.

“ _Ja_ ,” he says eventually, instead of saying anything stupid like _you look really good in my flannels and now I’m kind of annoyed that I suggested taking you clothes shopping_. “It is... it’s fine. You look fine. You look very nice in- you look very good. Um. Like this. But you also look good normally. That is- I am not trying to say that you do not look good when you are unglamoured, but this glamour is- it is-…” Caleb can feel himself floundering, and cuts himself off with a sigh. “You look fine,” he mutters, speaking to the carpet between his feet. “We should go now.” He thinks hears a soft huff of laughter from Molly, but he doesn’t look up to confirm it. The carpet is easier to look at. It’s certainly not _nicer_ to look at, not in comparison to Mollymauk, but it’s not handsome and smiling and dressed in one of Caleb’s shirts. He feels he could actually manage to make eye contact with the carpet, if it had any eyes to speak of.

“Alright,” he hears Molly say. He thinks he can hear a smile in his voice. “Lead the way, Caleb.”

Caleb does. He leads Molly down the hallway to the front door, where they spend a fun few minutes trying to figure out if anyone in the house has a pair of shoes that will fit Molly _and_ go with his outfit. It turns out that Caleb does, but they’re his favourite boots and he’s loathe to give them up, but he agrees to it after not too long. After all, it’s only for this one day. Once they’re both sufficiently booted and coated and, in Caleb’s case, scarfed as well, Caleb opens the door, and then promptly turns around again at the quiet ‘ _ow’_ that he hears from behind him.

“ _Was_?” he asks, frowning a little.

On the other side of the doorway Molly lifts a hand and pokes something in the air. The air shimmers. “You didn’t lower the wards.”

“Oh!”

“It tingles.”

“I’m sorry.” Caleb lifts a hand, waving it in the air and muttering a few words under his breath. There’s a small glow of magic behind his eyes, and then Molly’s hand moves freely through space again. “There. That should do it.”

“Thanks,” Molly says, before following Caleb out to the car. Caleb spots him eyeing it curiously as they approach, and abruptly realises that there’s a very good chance that Molly has never seen a car before. It’s a weird thought. He imagines it must feel a bit like suddenly stepping into a sci-fi film – most things are familiar, or at least similar, but there’s also a few things that are technology that he’d never even imagined before.

He ends up having to point out to Molly which side of the car to get in, and Molly watches Caleb carefully as he opens the door, sits down, and puts on his seatbelt. Then he does his best to copy him.

“So,” Molly says once he’s figured out how to put on his seatbelt, half-twisting in his seat to look over at Caleb. “Where are we going? Do I have I budget? Can I get some jewellery? Because if you recall, Caleb, I was going to have a bath before you summoned me, so I took it all off and I feel rather naked without it.”

Caleb does not comment on how naked Molly _actually_ was when he arrived. He doesn’t even think about it. He doesn’t think about it very hard indeed.

“You do have a budget,” he says, checking the mirrors as he starts the car. “I cannot afford to buy you everything, Mollymauk.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to, love.”

“And yes, I will take you to a jewellery shop if you so wish.”

“I do so wish. I saw Jester’s earrings on Sunday – they looked like little donuts. D’you think we’d be able to find some?”

“Absolutely,” Caleb says, safe in the knowledge that he was the person who bought those for Jester several years ago, and thus knows _exactly_ where they can find something similar.

Molly grins excitedly. “Ooh, fantastic! Do we have to go to a particular shop for that? Do you have any shops in mind?”

“Oh,” Caleb says, pulling out onto the road, “I have a few ideas.”

\---

Caleb had never seen a demon wearing an expression that could only be described as ‘starry-eyed’ before, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything.

“Caleb,” Molly breathes softly, slowing to a stop just outside the shop entrance that Caleb had been leading him towards. “This is- this is-”

“This is Claire’s Accessories.”

“-this is _amazing_.”

Caleb frowns. He’s not sure he would quite use that word to describe it. “…It certainly is a shop,” he says after a pause, sticking his hands in his pockets. If he’s honest, he doesn’t actually know much about it. He just knows that when he’d needed an emergency birthday present for Jester, Claire’s Accessories had supplied him with an entire range of pastry-shaped earrings.

Molly turns to look at him, his eyes still wide. “Please tell me this place isn’t expensive,” he says. “I want to buy so much and we’re not even inside yet.”

Caleb quickly shakes his head. “ _Nein, nein_ , this place is not expensive at all.” He steps forwards, gently ushering Molly into the store, and watches as Molly’s attention immediately goes to the racks of sparkly, shiny jewellery. “And we can always return later,” he adds, “they seem to change their stock fairly frequently.” He pauses, and then adds, “Although admittedly, I have only been here twice…”

“What was the first time?”

“Buying Jester donut earrings.”

Molly turns to look at Caleb, already rifling through the display. “That’s _this_ shop?”

“ _Ja_.”

Molly beams. “You’re the _best_. What was the second time you were here?”

“...Buying Nott donut earrings. She wanted to match.”

“Do you think they’d mind if I also matched?”

Caleb smiles. “Molly,” he says, “I don’t think they’d mind at all.”

When they leave the shop nearly an hour later, there’s an entire set of pastry-themed earrings in Caleb’s bag.

\---

“And what’s this place?”

“Hot Topic.”

From the corner of his eye, Caleb can see Molly’s eyes narrowing.

“…We will come back here later,” Molly says eventually.

\---

“Caleb.”

“No.”

“ _Caleb_.”

“No.”

“I want it.”

“It’s hideous.”

“It’s _incredible_.” Molly grins widely, stepping back to hold the thrift store garment at arms length; it’s a jacket, loose and flowy and undeniably too large for his frame, and just looking at it is already threatening to give Caleb a headache. The jacket is primarily a rich burgundy, adorned with embroidered shapes and patterns of all manner of colours. The sleeves are four separate colours, each one with its own pattern, and the shoulders are a dark blue fabric patterned with small pale blue crescents beneath the checkerboard riot that is the jacket’s collar. Caleb absolutely despises it.

Molly doesn’t seem to understand his hatred.

“Please?” he says. He grins at Caleb even wider, batting his eyelashes in an obvious ploy. “Caleb, darling, just _look_ at it!”

“I am looking.” He can’t _not_ look at it. “I am not spending my money on that, Mollymauk.”

“This falls inside the budget you gave me.”

“ _Ja_ , that it might, but I will have to live with that being in my house until we- until you leave.”

Molly pouts. “ _Caleb_ ,” he says, drawing the word out in a manner unnervingly similar to Jester, “please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“ _No_.”

Molly pouts at him some more. “Can I at least try it on?”

Caleb sighs. He supposes there’s no harm in that - Molly will get to try on the ugly, horrible, nightmare of a jacket, and then he’ll be happy, and then Caleb can suggest a more muted jacket from the racks before buying Molly’s collection of admittedly already somewhat garish items. “...Fine,” he acquiesces, and Molly beams.

“ _Thank you_ ,” he says. He reaches out, grabbing onto Caleb’s wrist with one hand, and squeezes it for a second before taking the jacket and stepping away to shrug into it. Caleb watches him go, absently wrapping a hand around where Molly’s touch had so recently lingered on his skin. Molly had felt warm, unusually so – it shouldn’t be a surprise, seeing how Molly is quite literally a demon from one of the Nine Hells, but it catches Caleb a little off-guard all the same. It feels nice, in a weird way. He rubs his thumb against his wrist, pressing down against the cooling touch of Molly’s hand, and watches as Molly pulls the jacket on.

And the jacket, somehow, actually becomes bearable.

Caleb has no idea how. For a second he wonders if Molly cast a spell on him mid-jacketing, making him abruptly change his mind about the hideous nature of the jacket, but he immediately remembers the bracelet on Molly’s wrist. They had tested external spellcasting and it hadn’t worked. Whatever it is that’s changing Caleb’s opinion on the jacket, it’s not supernatural in nature.

Which, somehow, is all the more concerning.

“ _Caleb_ ,” Molly says delightedly. He spins in place, the jacket swirling around him, and then stops to grin widely at Caleb. “Caleb, look at it! It’s amazing!”

It’s certainly _something_. Caleb isn’t sure that he would call it ‘amazing’, but it’s also no longer hideous, somehow. It suits Molly in a way that Caleb really hadn’t expected – between Molly’s tattoos and the gold liner that he’d insisted on putting on as soon as he’d bought it, the jacket actually seems like it belongs on him. It’s still as clashing and terrible as it was before, but, next to Molly’s dark skin and his wide, overjoyed smile, it seems… bearable.

It seems _attractive_. The twisting embroidered patterns suddenly look interesting rather than just garish, flowing from the rich fabric of the jacket onto Molly’s skin like a puzzle. Caleb wants to touch them. He wants to touch the peacock inked onto Molly’s skin.

He wants Molly to touch his wrist again.

And that, Caleb realises, is very much a thought – and problem – for another time. Right now he has bigger problems at hand, like the fact that the horrible, _horrible_ jacket suddenly doesn’t seem quite so bad to him.

However, he can’t let Molly know that. He has standards, after all.

Caleb clears his throat. “That thing is almost as ugly as the hula-hoop.”

Molly gasps. “You take that back!” he says with mock fury, clutching the ghastly jacket to his chest. “Need I point out, Caleb, that this jacket doesn’t have a single hint of neon yellow? Or silver?” He turns slowly in place, showing off every inch of the fabric medley hanging from his body. “ _Look_. Look at this beautiful _marvel_ of a garment, Caleb. This is the future of fashion. This is a must-have item for any modern demo- I mean man. This is _essential_ and I have to own it.”

“It’s vile. It looks like the time Jester lent Nott a set of oil paints.”

“I’m sure it does, and it’s _brilliant_.” Molly grins again, zipping the jacket all the way up and shoving his hands into its pockets. “And it fits me! It’s perfect!”

Caleb can’t argue with that. The jacket _does_ fit Molly, and now that it’s covering up the softer tones of Caleb’s shirt and flannel it actually seems to suit him even better. It looks good on him. It looks really, really, _annoyingly_ good.

Caleb reaches up, rubbing at the growing tension between his eyes. Why is taking a demon on a shopping trip so _hard_? All he wanted was for Molly to choose a few items so that he could pay, take him home, and then not have to lend Molly his clothes any more, even if Molly _does_ look particularly good in them.

 _He looks good in the jacket too_ , says a small voice in the back of Caleb’s head. Caleb politely points the voice towards the exit for his internal monologue. The voice, very rudely, ignores his suggestion. _He looks good, and it falls within budget, and he clearly likes it_.

That’s just obvious. Caleb doesn’t need any weird internal voice to tell him that. Molly has moved a few steps away to stand in front of a mirror, turning back and forth and inspecting himself from every angle, and he’s still grinning. Caleb’s sure that Molly is already planning outfits around the jacket, which is probably for the best – as much as he likes seeing his clothes on Molly, he can’t deny that the Venn diagram of his fashion and Molly’s fashion is a drawing of two entirely separate circles. Even now he can see the age-softened collar of his shirt sticking up above the collar of the jacket, clashing awfully against the patterned fabric, but Molly doesn’t seem to mind. He just keeps turning, brushing his hair back and tucking it behind his ears and carefully making countless small adjustments to the jacket. He looks happy. He looks delighted.

Caleb doesn’t want to ruin it, but he knows that he has to.

“Mollymauk?” he calls. Molly looks over at him, stopping his posing and preening.

“Yeah?”

“Put the jacket back,” Caleb says quietly. “You can get a different one.”

Molly’s face falls immediately. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“It is… I… I have my reasons,” Caleb says. It sounds weak, and he knows it. “I’m sorry, Mollymauk.”

“ _Please_?” Molly asks, in his most pleading voice.

For a second, Caleb’s resolve almost crumbles, but then he steps back, folding his arms over his chest, and shakes his head. He’s doing this with good reasons, even if Molly doesn’t know quite what they are yet.

“Mollymauk,” he says firmly, “we are not buying the jacket, and that is final.”

\---

“You know,” Molly says conversationally, sipping on his overly-sweet hot chocolate a few hours later, “I really don’t get why you hate the jacket so much.”

Caleb looks at it. The offending item is hung over the back of Molly’s chair, a price-tag still dangling from the sleeve. Beneath the soft light of the coffee shop that Molly had insisted that they drop into after spotting a peacock-patterned cake in the window, the jacket doesn’t look quite as bright, but it’s still very, very distinctive. Caleb still isn’t entirely sure why he bought it.

Well, no… that’s a lie. He knows why he bought it. He bought it because Molly had looked so unspeakably _happy_ in it. He’d been grinning from ear to ear practically the whole time that he was wearing it, his hands running over the fabric and his eyes sparkling. Even with his tail glamoured and hidden from view, Caleb felt like he could practically see it swishing happily behind Molly as he inspected himself in front of the mirror, and the sadness in his eyes when Caleb had told him to take it off and put it back had practically been tangible. For all Caleb knows, without the bracelet it could well have been. Demons can do weird things, after all – he wouldn’t put it past Molly to have moods that could be physically felt.

He’d felt bad about it, though. He’d had his reasons for not wanting Molly to get the jacket beyond the general offensiveness of its pattern, colouration, and everything else about it, but seeing the look on Molly’s face had ruined his resolve.

And Caleb is not a particularly strong-willed man.

He’d spotted Molly looking longingly in the jacket’s direction as they approached the short queue at the counter. When the time came for them to pay he had sighed, looked over at Molly, and quietly told him to fetch it.

The broad, absolutely delighted smile that he’d got in return had made something in his chest trip. Even now, watching Molly stir his hot chocolate with the little wooden stirrer, he wants to make Molly smile like that again. He wants to be the person to make Molly look that happy.

Molly looks up and catches his eye. “Caleb?”

Caleb blinks. “Mm?”

“I was asking why you hate the jacket so much.”

“Oh!” Caleb glances down, fiddling with his own cup of coffee. It’s a valid question and he had half been expecting it, but he had also been hoping that buying the jacket would have been enough to keep any questions at bay. Apparently not. Apparently, Molly is more perceptive than he likes to let on.

Caleb swishes the liquid around inside his mug for a few moments before looking up at Molly and shrugging. “It is just,” he begins, giving another small shrug, “it is- it is very… it is not, you know, what I would normally buy. It is very patterned, and bright, and… _ja_. I just do not like it.”

Molly raises an eyebrow at him. “You can’t hate it just because it’s not your style, Caleb,” he says sensibly.

Caleb sighs. “I know,” he replies. “I know. It is just… it is very loud, Mollymauk.”

“So am I.”

“ _Ja_ , maybe so, but I am… I am not.”

Molly tilts his head curiously. “What do you mean by that?” he asks. “Beyond the obvious?”

“The obvious?”

“Yeah. The, you know…” Molly trails off, waving a hand that encompasses Caleb’s general being. “ _You know_.”

Caleb frowns. “You just gestured to all of me.”

“No, I gestured to what I can see of you,” Molly corrects softly, his gaze briefly flicking over Caleb again. There’s a searching intensity to it that Caleb can’t quite place – it makes him feel like a butterfly, pinned behind glass for all to see. He shifts a little in his seat, fidgeting with his mug. He doesn’t like that feeling. It makes him feel exposed. “There’s a difference between _looking_ and _being,_ you know. Maybe you’re all quiet and nerdy on the outside, but not on the inside. And that’s fine, you know, I know plenty of people like that. We’re all weird in our own ways. But I wanted to know what _you_ meant by not being loud. I know what I think you meant, but, like with a lot of things, it can help to ask for clarification.”

There’s a long silence.

To say that Caleb doesn’t know what to say in response to that is an understatement – he doesn’t even know how to feel. Behind Molly’s words he felt like he’d heard another voice, one which had squirreled into his paltry surface argument and started pulling out the core of it like it was unravelling a sweater.

After a long pause, Caleb quietly clears his throat. “You are… you are very perceptive, Mollymauk Tealeaf,” he says quietly.

Molly smiles. “It’s part of my charm,” he says. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

Caleb feels his lips twitching in a weak mirror of Molly’s smile. “No, I suppose you can’t.”

“So, what’s up? You going to tell me why you don’t want to be seen with this masterpiece of a jacket?”

Caleb smiles a little more. “I am not sure I would call it that.”

“You will,” Molly replies casually. “One day, you will.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, absolutely. One day, Caleb ‘surname-currently-unknown’, you will look at this jacket and understand exactly how wrong you were to hate it in the first place.”

“Hm. Maybe.”

“I don’t think it’s just hatred of the jacket, though,” Molly continues. He props one arm up on the table and rests his chin on his hand, inspecting Caleb with an uncomfortably perceptive eye. “You don’t just dislike it because it’s colourful, Caleb. If you hated colourful things then you’d hate me, and though I’m very aware that I am quite wonderfully obnoxious, you don’t seem to hate me _quite_ yet. So what is it?” Molly’s eyes flick up, his gaze meeting Caleb’s. “Because frankly, Caleb, you act like you don’t want to be seen around it.”

Caleb pulls in a breath, and feels it rattling around his lungs. “I do not- I do not wish to draw attention to myself,” he says after a while, his voice soft. Amongst the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop he’s not sure if he’s even audible to Molly, but the demon seems to be following his words all the same. Caleb picks up his cup and takes a sip, hunching in on himself. _Be small. Be unseen_. “I do not like to be noticed. Mollymauk,” he continues. “Being noticed is-” _dangerous_ “-unpleasant. It makes me very uncomfortable. So I dress like, you know…” he trails off, gesturing to himself.

Molly gives him a small smile. “Like a nerdy professor?” he suggests gently, and Caleb surprises himself when he gives a small huff of laughter.

 _“Ja_ ,” he agrees, “I suppose I do look a little like that.”

“More a lot than a little, love.”

Caleb smiles back. It feels a little weak, and a little uncertain, but it’s definitely there. “Fine,” he agrees, “I look a lot like a nerdy professor.”

“And a very attractive one at that,” Molly adds with a quick wink. Caleb can feel himself starting to blush and he quickly looks back down at his mug. Now is not the time for that. Now is not the time to be winked at by a demon wearing his flannel.

“Um,” he says, “thank you?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out sounding like a question, but it does all the same. “Anyway, as I was saying… I do not like to be noticed. So I like to wear neutral colours and simple designs. But the- the jacket,” he says, gesturing to it. “It is loud, and bright, and colourful.”

“It is,” Molly agrees, but there’s understanding in his voice now. He leans forwards across the table, pushing his half-drunk mug of hot chocolate to one side, and gives Caleb a thoughtful look. Somehow, it’s all the more disconcerting now that his eyes are grey. It doesn’t feel altogether like Molly. It feels like a stranger, like an acquaintance, like some Molly-adjacent person is looking over Caleb, and it makes his skin crawl.

He never thought he’d prefer to see purple skin and flat red eyes but right now, in this moment, he would.

 _It’s been three days_ , he tells himself quietly. _Do not get attached_.

“The jacket draws attention,” he continues. “Attention to you, which means attention to me.”

“Why attention to you? I’m going to be the one wearing it.”

“Because whenever you leave the house I will have to accompany you, Mollymauk. Which means that I will have to be near you, so I will have to be near the jacket.”

“…If the jacket is seen, you will be too.”

Caleb pulls in a breath. “ _Ja_.” And if he is seen with a being that any witch worth their salt will quickly realise is a demon, then his magic might be recognised. And if his magic is recognised, then word might spread. And if word is spread, and the wrong person hears, then-

Then.

Caleb doesn’t want to think about what happens after that.

He can feel his breathing starting to pick up and he does his best to slow it down, rubbing his thumb against the fabric of his sweater and focusing on the immediate environment. He’s safe. He _has_ to be safe. Jester and Beau and Fjord have told him that his true name hasn’t been mentioned in magical circles in years, and most people have no idea that Liam O’Brien and Caleb Widogast have anything in common at all. He is _safe_. He is safe, and this is fine, and besides, the magic woven into the bracelet on Mollymauk’s wrist is so small and contained as to be practically unnoticeable. The chance that he’ll encounter an old client, or a witch or wizard who recognises the shape of his magic is practically non-existent. No one will see him, and no one will know him.

He knows this. He understands this. But for some stupid fucking reason his mind has latched onto the jacket that Molly loves so much and is refusing to let it go.

“Caleb,” Molly says softly, pulling Caleb out of his own head. He reaches forwards, turning his hand to lay palm-up on the table between them, and gently wiggles his fingers. Caleb glances down at it and then, after a moment, cautiously places his hand in Molly’s.

Molly gives a quick squeeze.

“Caleb,” he says again, “it’s going to be fine, alright? I can assure you that if people are looking at me then they won’t be looking at you, alright? You people only have one pair of eyes, after all – don’t give me that look, Caleb, you know what I am – so if they’re watching me, they _can’t_ be watching you. And I do love being the centre of attention.” He grins again, wide and rakish. It’s obnoxiously charming, for all that Molly _does_ look a bit like he’s about to try and sell Caleb a second-hand car at a terrible price. “I will _happily_ take the limelight away from you whenever you need me to. The jacket will just make that easier for me. In the nicest possible way, love, people are not going to be looking at you when I’m around dressed like I upended the Brass City’s vault onto myself. You’ll be invisible.”

 _You’ll be invisible_. Caleb has tried many, many times to become invisible. He knows now that he can do it if he is prepared, but the spell doesn’t last long and it falls the moment his concentration falters. Invisibility, _true_ invisibility, is tricky. It’s challenging. It’s his focal area of magic, admittedly, but it’s difficult all the same.

What Molly is suggesting, though… that’s an altogether much simpler form of invisibility.

Caleb looks down, and stares at where Molly’s glamoured-dark skin lies alongside his own.

It’s actually comforting. Molly’s hand is warm around Caleb’s own, his thumb rubbing absently against Caleb’s skin, and, though Caleb sometimes has problems with physical touch, this is actually… nice. It feels nice. Molly’s not holding on particularly hard, and Caleb feels that he could easily pull his hand away if he wanted to, and, beyond that, he’s actually making a really, _really_ good point.

 _No one will look at me if I am near Mollymauk_.

Even in his human form Caleb can’t deny that Molly is mesmerising – there’s something about him that suggests some hint of otherness, and he knows it’s not just the magic in his veins reacting to the presence of a demon so close by to him. He moves a little more smoothly than humans do, his actions a little cleaner and a little sharper, but Caleb feels that even if Molly was as human as he, he would still struggle to look away from him. He’s _bright_ , in more ways than just his dress – he seems to draw attention towards him like a magnet, capturing it with his looks and with his laughter and absolutely thriving on it. He’s undeniably beautiful, both in this form and his demon one, and Caleb still hasn’t figured out quite what to do with that piece of information.

He’s pretty certain that other people find Molly attractive, too. More than once he spotted people in the stores that they visited glancing over Molly, looking him up down, and, considering his usual ignorance and obliviousness towards that kind of thing, they must have been _very_ blatant about it. Molly already draws the attention away from Caleb. He already takes the limelight, leaving Caleb to stay safe and unseen in the shadows it paints. Caleb is invisible by Molly’s side. Caleb is unseen.

If Molly has the jacket, he’ll only draw yet more prying eyes away.

Across from Caleb, Molly is still speaking.

“And,” he’s saying, “If you really don’t like it, we can return it. It’s just a jacket. I can find another jacket. There was a lovely one with a weird manticore on the back of it that I saw in the thrift shop. That one was quite nice.”

Caleb frowns. “A… manticore?”

“Yeah!” Molly replies. “A manticore! Only it was missing some of its heads. And it had a weird furry tail instead of a snake. It might have been a mythical creature.”

“…Do you mean a lion?”

“Does a lion look like a badly butchered manticore?”

Caleb thinks for a moment. “…It could.”

“Then sure. It was a jacket with a lion on the back. If it would make you more comfortable, Caleb, we could go back and swap this jacket for that one.” He gives a mournful sigh, dropping Caleb’s hand to run his fingers over the jacket’s fabric. Unseen, Caleb pulls his hand into his lap and flexes his fingers. Somehow, he hadn’t even noticed that they had still been holding hands. “I will miss you, jacket.”

Caleb smiles a little wider. “Thank you, Mollymauk,” he says softly, and Molly shrugs as he turns back to him.

“Don’t mention it,” he says easily. “I mean, you _did_ pay for it. You do have the receipt. If the jacket really makes you that uncomfortable then I will find a replacement.”

“You like the jacket, though.”

“And _you_ don’t,” Molly counters. “And I’m not going to go digging too deep into your reasoning, Caleb, because charming as you are, we really don’t know each other that well, so I’m just going to assume you have your reasons for wanting to be unseen.”

“I do.”

“And that’s enough for me.” Molly gives Caleb a small smile, resting his arms on the table. “You’re effectively hosting me right now, Caleb. I don’t want to be a trouble. Beyond the whole, y’know, _demon_ thing. So whatever’s best for you, that’s what we’ll do. It’s as simple as that.”

As simple as that.

Somehow, _somehow,_ it really is. Caleb chews his lip for a moment, the fingers of one hand drumming against his mug as he turns over the two options in his head. He could let Molly keep the jacket, and risk potentially being recognised, or he could return the jacket, and _still_ risk potentially being recognised. There’s no good solution, not really, because whatever happens he will still be walking around with a literal _demon_ at his side, but Molly had had a good point about drawing people’s attention. Caleb has no doubt that he can do that. If anyone were to look at Molly, they would never notice Caleb standing beside him.

Caleb nods to himself and comes to a decision.

“Keep the jacket,” he says eventually. “It- it suits you. I am just being silly.”

“You sure?” Molly asks softly.

Caleb nods. “I’m sure,” he says again, meeting Molly’s gaze.

Molly smiles. He reaches out across the table, laying his hand between them, and after a moment Caleb reaches out and lets Molly tangle their fingers together. “Thank you,” Molly says quietly, and Caleb cannot help but smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be going up on January 23rd!


	6. Chapter 6

The days pass.

It doesn’t take long for Molly to start to settle into the house. With the focus moved away from banishing him back to the Nine Hells as quickly as possible, and instead moved towards figuring out _how_ to achieve that, things around the house have relaxed a bit. Caleb had told Beau shortly after taking Molly shopping that they wouldn’t actually be needing the chalked ceiling circle that she was _definitely_ getting around to drawing any day now and, finding himself with more or less free reign of the house, Molly had wasted no time in getting settled in. He’d already learned the layout of the house, more or less; he knows that Caleb’s room is next to his, and that there’s a small bathroom between his room and Nott’s, and that Beau’s room mirrors the location of Caleb’s on the other side of house. He knows where the pantry of holding is, and where the pantry of things is, and where the pantry of _other_ things is. He doesn’t exactly feel settled in, but he feels comfortable enough.

And if nothing else, taking a ludicrously long shower while Nott had hammered on the door and complained loudly and vocally about him using all the hot water had definitely made him feel like a cherished member of the household.

He still doesn’t know everything, though. He’s never seen inside Beau’s bedroom, or Nott’s, or Caleb’s (more’s the pity). Those rooms are still complete mysteries to him, beyond the occasional glimpses he’s got when walking past one of his new housemates entering or leaving their room. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t tried to get in. It had been one of the first things he’d done the evening of the shopping trip, when Caleb, Beau, and Nott had been hanging out downstairs, leaving Molly to put away his purchases. He’d quickly jammed them all into drawers and on hangers, and had then spent significantly longer making sure that his jewellery and cheap make-up was carefully arranged, before slipping out of his room and towards Caleb’s, which happened to be the closest. He’d carefully, _carefully,_ reached out for the door handle, and had then immediately had to stifle his yelp at the small sting of magic that lanced through his fingertips. Caleb’s work, he could only assume. It certainly _felt_ like Caleb’s magic – it felt like what had happened that time he tried to move Caleb’s witchtome.

In other words, it stung like a bitch.

After that, Molly had only tested Nott’s door handle before giving up and returning back downstairs. Caleb, sitting with Nott on the one couch that Beau wasn’t sprawled across, had given him a very knowing look which Molly had not deigned to return. Caleb couldn’t prove anything, after all. Molly could be rubbing his fingertips for any number of reasons.

Apart from the bedrooms, though, there’s plenty of things that Molly’s still learning. He has yet to figure out exactly what the distinction is between the two shelves of mugs, and strongly suspects that there isn’t one; he hasn’t yet learned the exact setting to put the shower at to avoid either freezing or scalding water; he has yet to learn what, exactly, it is that makes Caleb smell so damn good.

That one has been a particularly annoying problem, and he’s determined to solve it one day, if for no other reason so that when he returns to the Nine Hells he can become the best smelling tiefling of all time.

If he’s honest, that’s about the only mystery he’s particularly invested in solving. It would be nice to know what Caleb’s room looks like, and to learn if Nott’s room is the magpie nest that he strongly suspects it is, but it’s not essential. He can handle not knowing.

Today, however, he’d learned of one other room that he also hadn’t seen inside of – tucked away on the ground floor of the house was a room that Molly had never stepped foot in. It was somewhat out of the way, the door hidden around a corner, and he hadn’t actually realised it was there until very recently, when Caleb had looked over at Molly lounging in an armchair, picking through his new selection of nail polishes (plus a few that Nott had, ah, _borrowed_ from Beau) in hunt of one that would match his donut earrings, and asked if he wanted to join him and Beau in his study.

Naturally, Molly had said yes.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting when Caleb pushes open the door after unlocking it with a small burst of golden magic, but what he sees beyond somehow exactly manages to fit his half-imagined interior. It’s a small room, simply furnished with dark wooden bookcases all along the left wall and a solid-looking, somewhat charred desk pushed up against the far wall. The wall to the right is almost entirely occupied by a large bay window, the sunlight streaming through it softened by the gauze curtain covering it.

“You can sit there, if you like,” Caleb says, stepping inside and gesturing to the seat that’s been built into the window, the surface of it covered in soft throw blankets and a collection of cushions in all manner of colours. “There is- Beau will be joining us shortly, and she gets the spare chair so that she can help me.”

“You doing anything interesting?” Molly asks curiously as he takes a seat, unscrewing his little bottle of nail polish and starting to apply it. He can see a notebook lying open on the table, a sketch of a large, ominous-looking eyeball taking up the entirety of one page.

“That would depend on your definition of interesting but, _ja_ , I think so.” Caleb glances back at Molly, giving a small smile as he crosses to the bookshelves and starts tugging free a few books and jars of miscellaneous items. “I am preparing for a summoning tomorrow.”

Molly sits up straighter at that. “Who’re you summoning? Anyone I know?”

“I doubt it,” Caleb replies, giving a soft laugh that makes Molly’s heart briefly skip a beat. “I am not summoning a demon, hence why I need Beauregards’s help. We have summoned this particular entity before, but it is always good to have another set of eyes. And besides, she is trying to learn magic from me, even though Nott is technically my apprentice.”

There’s a disgruntled sound from the door. Molly turns his head, watching as Beau crosses the room and flops into the chair next to the desk, kicking her feet out in front of her. “I’ve told you, Caleb, it’s entirely possible to have two apprentices,” she says.

Caleb doesn’t even glance at her. “ _Ja_ , it is, but Nott at least understands the basics of magic. You are still learning, and the best way to learn is through practical experience. Hence you are my assistant, and not yet my apprentice.” He turns around, moving back to the desk with a number of jars and books balanced in his arms. Beau snags one from the top of the stack as he passes, unscrewing the lid and quickly shaking out a few of the small scales inside it.

“I’m a fucking _excellent_ assistant,” she mutters, placing the scales down on the desk. She reseals the jar and puts it to one side before shuffling her chair around to join Caleb with an awful scraping sound of wood on wood. The noise makes Molly wince, his ears flicking back against his head, but by some miracle he doesn’t twitch enough to ruin his nail polish. “I’m the best God-damn assistant you’ve got, Caleb.”

“Out of one, _ja_ ,” Caleb replies dryly. He glances over at Beau with a teasing smile and gently turns the notebook towards her. With the two of them in the way, Molly can’t quite make out what’s on the page that Caleb’s flipped to, but he can see Beau frowning at whatever’s there. “Now, are you ready to prepare this ritual?”

The next half an hour or so passes relatively quietly. For all that Caleb and Beau seem to speak every couple of minutes they keep the volume low, letting Molly paint his nails in peace. He tunes in and out of the conversation, his attention occasionally caught by one thing or another, but it’s only once he hears a name cropping up repeatedly that he starts to actually pay attention.

Sue him, but he’s nosy.

“Who’s Fjord?” he asks during a lull in the conversation, carefully finishing the second coat of nail polish before looking over at the desk.

“Friend of ours,” Beau replies without looking at him, peering at something over Caleb’s shoulder. “He’s like a- a warlock or something.”

_A what_? “A warlock?”

“ _Ja_ , a warlock,” Caleb says.

“Forgive my ignorance, Caleb, but what’s a warlock?”

“It is, ah…” Caleb trails off, pausing for a moment. He glances over at Beau, who shrugs emphatically, and then looks back at Molly, chewing his lip in a somewhat distracting way. “How much do you know about magic?”

Molly ponders that for a second. “I’d say I know enough.”

“So… you are aware that there are different types of magic, right? Like transmutation, evocation, abjuration, and so on.”

Molly nods. He’s sure he’s heard of those words before – he might not know exactly what they all mean, but the concept of there being different schools of magic is familiar to him. He’s got absolutely no idea what school most of his magic falls into, but then again he’s never really had to care about that. He just makes jewellery and weaves in some small enchantments, and that’s always been enough for him. “I’m familiar.”

Caleb’s smile widens. “ _Gut!_ That’s- good. So you are aware that people have different ways of accessing those magics? You know of the differences between witches and wizards?”

_Not even slightly_. “Sure.”

“Well,” Caleb continues enthusiastically, “a warlock is another way of accessing and utilising magic, but it is one in which the magic comes from an external source. This source is, for a warlock, an entity of some form – a warlock can be a witch or a wizard who summons a patron, or is contacted by one, and they then agree upon a contract that they both benefit from.”

“So a magical sugar daddy?”

Caleb’s face falls immediately. “No,” he says.

“ _Yes_ ,” says Beau. “Yeah, that!”

“ _No_ ,” Caleb says again, more emphatically. “That is- that is not it, Mollymauk. Beauregard, don’t encourage him.”

“I’m not encouraging anybody.”

“I _did_ come to this conclusion on my own,” Molly points out, smirking. “Here’s my understanding so far, and correct me if I’m wrong – a warlock makes a deal with _something_ , and they give that being something, and they get magic in return?”

“ _Ja_ , yes, exactly that.”

“Sounds like a sugar daddy to me.”

Caleb makes a small, pained noise. Next to him, Beau lets out what Molly could only call a guffaw. “ _Mollymauk_.”

For a moment, Molly makes eye contact with Beau. They don’t exchange any words, but in their few seconds of grinning at each other he feels like they grow indescribably closer, both of them sharing and delighting in Caleb’s discomfort and unhappiness over Molly’s _completely accurate_ understanding of a warlock.

“Anyway,” Molly says, when Beau gives a pointed glance down at Caleb, who’s got his face in his hands. “What do you even give a- a patron? I’m assuming you don’t actually give them sex.”

“Some warlocks might,” Beau pipes up. Caleb groans again. “Come on, Caleb, you know I’m right. It’s possible.”

“It is,” Caleb admits, his voice muffled.

“I thought so,” Molly says, his grin only widening. “But, seriously, beyond that. What do you give a magical sugar dadd- patron?” He can’t imagine that just money would work. Even in the Nine Hells money is treated more like an add-on to a barter system than as an actual independent system of trade. And if these beings are as cool and powerful as he’s imagining, then he really can’t imagine them being interested in little coins or flimsy pieces of paper that go funny in the laundry.

Beau shrugs. “Oh,” she says, “just, like, whatever. It depends on the patron, really. Most of them want power because, y’know, they’re giant fuckin’ evil demons, or weird-ass tentacle things, or living trees or whatever-”

“Living trees?”

“-yeah, living trees, keep up. But some of them want news, or knowledge, or food, or shit like that. It really varies.”

“Oh!” Caleb exclaims suddenly, sitting bolt upright. “That’s a good point!” He turns to Beau, his eyes wide. “Beauregard, did you remember to get the-”

“Yeah, yeah, I got the cooking apples for tomorrow,” Beau replies. “Don’t worry about it, man. We’re all good.”

“Did you get-”

“ _Yes_ ,” Beau says, rolling her eyes. She claps Caleb on the shoulder with a bit more force than Molly feels is strictly necessary – Caleb jolts a bit, but he smiles back at Beau all the same, reaching up to lay one of his hands over hers. “Come on, Caleb, you’ve gotta start trusting me to be your assistant at some point. I got the apples, and I got the rest of your shopping list, and I even checked the pantry this time to make sure that we didn’t accidentally end up with way too many apples or too much flour or whatever.”

“Did you check both the pantries?” Caleb asks, but this time Molly can see a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It’s a good look on him, he thinks absently. It’s a very good look. It makes Caleb look relaxed and soft and comfortable – the stress lines accumulated over the weekend have been gradually fading away over the last few days and, inside this small, shared moment with Beau, Caleb looks almost entirely relaxed. Molly can only assume that it’s an in-joke of some kind; a reference to a past event that he wasn’t around to see or understand. He watches as the two of them meet each other’s gaze for a few more seconds, Caleb’s smile slowly edging towards a smirk, and then Beau sighs abruptly and shakes her head.

“You’re a fucking ass, Widogast,” she says, but the smile on her lips takes away any harshness in her words. “I swear to God, I have no idea why I still work with you. That was _one_ time.”

“You still work with me because I pay you, and because you are my friend, and you know it,” Caleb replies, smirking wider.

“Hey, no, you pay me because I am your _landlord_ ,” Beau corrects. “Kinda. Ish. You teaching me magic shit was part of our contract.”

“I don’t see you arguing the ‘friend’ point.”

“I’m not arguing the ‘friend’ point,” Beau admits. “But do you _have_ to keep bringing that up? It was literally one time. Two at most. And everything worked out fine in the end anyway!”

Molly shifts a little, carefully placing down the little bottle of nail polish on the floor beside the window seat and holding his claws away from the cushions as he leans in closer. This sounds interesting. This sounds _entertaining_. And he does so love a good story from time to time. He very nearly wants to speak up and outright ask what happened, but he quite likes this too – he likes watching from a distance, seeing as the walls that Caleb normally keeps so high drop around someone that he knows and trusts, giving him the space and air to joke. Molly likes it. He really likes it.

In an off-handed way, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to make Caleb laugh and joke like that. He won’t, of course, because he is _not_ going to get a crush on the hot witch with the rolled-up sleeves and scruffy jawline, because he is a grown-ass demon who is better than that and is also probably going to be back home in the Nine Hells inside the week, but he can’t help but wonder it anyway. He wonders if Caleb’s smile always stays that small and delighted, or if he’ll ever properly grin. He wonders if Caleb always leans forwards like that, resting his chin in one hand as he smirks at Beau. He wonders if Caleb’s eyes sparkle even more when Molly’s right up close in front of him.

He wonders when he became such an absolute _sap_.

“It happened twice,” Caleb is saying, amusement dancing in his eyes. “And I got soaked as a result. Fjord’s patron was not very happy.”

“Fjord’s patron can go suck an egg,” Beau mutters. She sighs, shaking her head from side to side, and claps Caleb on the shoulder again, the touch easy and familiar. “Anyway, you want me to get started on the baking?”

Caleb nods. “ _Ja, bitte_. And would you ask Nott if she would like to join us? I will join you shortly.”

Beau nods back, slipping off the table and stepping away on silent feet. “Sure, can do. Can I-”

“Yes, you will get some as soon as they’re finished.”

“Fuck yeah,” Beau mutters quietly, and with that she turns and leaves for the kitchen.

Over at the side of the room, Molly frowns. He’s very aware that different demons and beings require different items to summon them, but he’s never heard of anyone or anything that requires what he thinks are _baked goods_. Baked goods containing apples, specifically. The closest he would normally expect to anything approaching that is a demon requiring salt, or sugar, or _maybe_ flour to summon them if they were a particularly bizarre type of demon. Certainly not _pastries_.

Whatever it is that Beau’s baking, though, Molly knows that he wants to try one.

He glances at Beau as she walks past him, tugging his nail polish away from her path with the end of his tail. Beau shoots him a glance, her gaze flickering down to his tail back up, and then she raises her chin in a silent nod of appreciation and understanding.

Molly nods back.

Beau leaves.

Silence fills the room, but it’s not awkward. Molly can hear Caleb scratching away at something over at the desk, the soft sounds of things rustling and clattering occasionally interrupting the peaceful room. He blows air over his nails, turning them from side to side as he inspects them critically. They don’t seem to be smudged yet, which is good. As long as he can keep them smudge-free for the next few minutes then he can add on the top coat, wait for that to dry, and then as long as he doesn’t try to poke Caleb’s magic again he’ll _finally_ have nice, pristine nails again.

It’s a surprisingly nice thought. Molly smiles to himself, blowing over his nails again. He can very easily not touch Caleb’s magic. He thinks he about knows where it lies throughout the house, woven into its very foundations.

A few more moments of silence pass and then, quite abruptly, Molly realises what he just overheard.

_Widogast_.

Beau had said Widogast. That’s a surname. _Caleb’s_ surname, if Molly’s not mistaken. He mouths it quietly from his spot in the window seat, turning over the syllables of it between his tongues. Widogast. _ᙪ_ _ᚾ_ _ᘷ_ _Ѧ_ _ᖧ_ _Ѧ_ _ᚣ_ _ᘾ_ _._ It’s a strange name, one not designed for the Infernal language – he knows that if he were to speak it aloud his accent would twist it slightly, making it into something almost, but not exactly, identical to what Beau had just said. He wants to speak it aloud, just for a moment. He wants to know what it would sound like for him to speak it.

But he doesn’t, because that would be dangerous. If he spoke it aloud then Caleb would know that he knows it. And Caleb’s smart, smarter than Molly is by a long shot – Molly knows this for certain, without a shadow of a doubt. The moment Caleb realises that Molly knows his name he will realise everything that Molly could potentially do.

Names have power. Names have a lot of power. There’s a reason why witches and wizards tend to only use their first names when introducing themselves to their summons, or go by an entirely different name. Much how a magic user needs a demon’s name to summon them, a demon needs a witch’s name to cast targeted magic. And there’s all kinds of nasty targeted magic out there.

Curses. Pacts. Deals.

Possession.

Molly feels a shiver run down his spine. He has Caleb’s name now, and neither Beau nor Caleb seem to have realised it. He’s not a powerful demon, not by a long shot, but there’s still plenty that he could do. He could curse Caleb, blighting the tomato and basil plants growing happily in his kitchen. He could make a pact with Caleb on a joke, sealing it with a handshake that Caleb wouldn’t even realise was binding until years down the line.

He could possess Caleb. He could save his energy, and wait, and be patient, and then in the dead of night he could speak Caleb’s name, and wind it around with his magic, and step into Caleb’s mind and shut off his lungs.

Possession is powerful. Possession is _deadly_.

With Caleb’s back to him, the witch’s attention entirely engrossed by the book before him, Molly winces.

He’s doesn’t- he won’t- he doesn’t want to do that. He doesn’t want to do any of that. For starters it would only make his situation here worse, as he has absolutely no doubt that Nott would murder him if he even thought about laying a finger on Caleb, but beyond that he just- he doesn’t _want_ to! He’s very aware that it’s not the most demonic thing to think, but it’s true. He doesn’t want to hurt Caleb. He _likes_ Caleb. He likes Caleb a lot more than he feels he should, but he likes him all the same. Caleb is nice, after all. He’s nice, and he’s thoughtful, and he cares about making Molly comfortable and content and as happy as it’s possible to be when he’s been summoned away from his nice warmth bath. He took Molly shopping, buying him clothes out of his own pocket and then letting Molly get completely useless, totally unnecessary make-up and jewellery as well just because he likes it and it makes him feel more comfortable. He invites Molly to sit in when he works with his magic, not seeming to mind Molly’s flat red-eyed stare as he watches Caleb weave a spell.

Caleb is nice. Caleb is so nice, and so sweet, and so thoughtful that Molly very nearly doesn’t know what to do. He already likes Caleb to a very nearly dangerous degree, and he’s not once been successful at telling himself to take a step back. Caleb captures and holds his attention like nothing else ever has. He’s enthralling. He’s beautiful. He actually seems to _trust_ Molly.

Molly is not going to break that trust by betraying Caleb’s name.

He mouths _Widogast_ to himself one more time, and then sets the knowledge of it aside. He can pretend not to know. He can pretend that Beau never slipped up. He can pretend to be utterly engrossed in his drying nails and then Caleb will never have to know that Molly knows, which means that Caleb will never have to be worried or nervous about a demon being in possession of his name.

Unseen by Caleb, Molly twists the two split ends of his tail together as he swears a quiet promise to himself. _I am not going to abuse Caleb’s name_.

“Molly?”

Molly practically leaps off the bench at the sound of Caleb’s voice, jolting at the unexpected sound. He places one hand over his heart instinctively, looking over and meeting Caleb’s gaze as he feels his heart rate start to slow again.

“ _Gods_ ,” he says, wheezing slightly. “Don’t do that, Caleb!”

“Sorry,” Caleb says apologetically. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Did you smudge your nails?”

Molly glances down at them. “No,” he says, “no, they’re alright.”

“That’s good. I am still sorry for startling you.”

“It’s alright, Caleb,” Molly says with a sigh. He takes a breath and lets himself settle back against the wall of the window seat again, feeling the solid wood pressing uncomfortably against his spine. _Gods_. He doesn’t know what caused Caleb to suddenly speak up, but he hopes it’s nothing bad. He doesn’t think it is. From Caleb’s expression, he’s assuming that Caleb didn’t speak up because he suddenly realised what Molly overheard the same way that Molly did – Caleb looks a little bit concerned, yes, but he doesn’t look nervous. He looks closer to anxious, his leg jittering beneath the table as he fiddles with a few of the items scattered across his desk. “What is it, Caleb?”

Caleb’s leg jitters faster. “I,” he says, “I was wondering… you are not bored here, are you?” he asks eventually. He sounds concerned almost, worried like he’s genuinely afraid that Molly might not be enjoying his time in Caleb’s home. “I would- I am aware that this cannot be as interesting as your home plane, and you did not get the chance to bring through anything with you when you were, ah, when I summoned you here, but…” He trails off, giving a shrug and looking away. He fiddles with a small length of crystal, spinning it between his fingers in a mesmerising way. Molly doesn’t look for too long. He’s very aware of his current thoughts and feelings towards Caleb, and he knows what he’s like. Looking at Caleb’s fingers for too long is probably a very, very dangerous thing to do.

Caleb sighs softly, and Molly looks back at him.

“Mollymauk,” he says. “I would… I do not want you to be bored.” He turns his gaze towards Molly, the crystal stilling between his fingers. “It is my fault that you are here, and so it is my responsibility to keep you entertained.” Molly tries very, very hard not to think about all the ways that Caleb could possibly keep him entertained. _Calm down, Tealeaf_. “So if there is anything in this plane that you would like to do, or see, or if there is anything that I could get you to keep you entertained as I keep researching… just let me know, alright?”

“I can do that,” Molly says. “I- yeah, I can do that. Give me a while to come up with a list though, alright? I don’t really know what you get up to on this plane.”

Caleb smiles, looking relieved. “Of course,” he says. “If you want, you could talk to Nott. She always has plenty of suggestions.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, _ja_. Some of them can be… concerning, but they are definitely not dull.”

“I’ll consider it,” Molly says. He hasn’t spoken much to Nott since his arrival, but if he’s going to be staying here for much longer, then he should probably get to know her. “Thanks, Caleb.”

“Of course. Does anything come to mind immediately, though? I am sure I could find time in my schedule.”

A number of things _definitely_ come to mind, but Molly’s not sure that Caleb would want to hear them. He politely ignores the thoughts in his mind, instead trying to think about what else would interest him. So far, he knows that he finds exploring the house interesting – there’s so many small, perfectly normal things scattered around that he simply doesn’t have an equivalent for in the Nine Hells, and several things that he considers absolutely essential that seem to be missing. He would love to get the chance to explore Caleb’s bedroom, or Nott’s, or Beau’s, but somehow he doesn’t think that Caleb would let him do that. He understands that. Bedrooms are a personal thing and he’s still barely more than a stranger.

Apart from that, though… one thing _does_ come to mind.

“I like your magic,” Molly says after a pause. “I’d like to learn about that. It’s very interesting.”

It’s like a switch has been flipped in Caleb. He sits up straighter, tapping the crystal twice before setting it to one side with a quiet clatter of stone of wood, and half-turns towards Molly. “Really?”

_Of course_. How could he not find Caleb’s magic interesting? Even without Caleb being, well, _Caleb_ , it’s not magic like Molly has ever really seen before. Magic in the Nine Hells is different to this – Molly’s magic is a part of him, sure, but he doesn’t wield it in the same thoughtless, instinctive way that Caleb does, as though it’s less of a tool and more of an altogether different limb that other people just forget they have. He treats his magic the same way Molly treats his tail, but, at the same time, he studies it. Molly still hasn’t actually opened Caleb’s witchtome for all that he desperately wants to, but he’s seen enough of its contents over the last few days – he’s seen the notes, and the diagrams, and the sigils and runes and markings built up over what he can only assume are years of experimentation and meticulous recording.

And here, in Caleb’s office, evidence of his attitude towards his magic is all the more apparent. The shelves are lined with jars of ingredients, clusters of crystals, and the occasional model of what Caleb explained are chemical structures. He treats his magic like a science, and he treats his magic like a limb. It’s fascinating.

_Caleb_ is fascinating.

Molly wants to tell him that. He can see the excitement and delight in Caleb’s eyes, can read it in how he’s leaning just a little bit closer to Molly, his mouth quirked up in a smile and his eyes sparkling, and Molly so, so badly wants to tell Caleb that he is fascinating, and that his magic is fascinating, and that Molly could never, _ever_ imagine himself growing tired of it.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t because he knows that, if he were to say all of that and, by some miracle, not scare Caleb off, Caleb’s joyous reaction would only make Molly like him even more. And Molly’s not going to do that. He’s told himself that he’s not going to do that. If he likes Caleb then he’ll grow attached to him, and when he finally goes back home he’ll forget that Caleb was the one who trapped him here in the first place.

Molly puts all those thoughts to one side, carefully tucks them away, and tries to make his expression closer to ‘generically interested’ than ‘thoroughly fascinated and very, _very_ attracted to Caleb Widogast.’

“Sure,” he says, somehow managing to sound like a perfectly normal demon with no sappy thoughts about the witch who summoned him whatsoever. “It’s- well, y’know, it’s different to my magic. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow, tilting his head a little. “No?”

“Not at all.”

“But you have magic, _ja_? I have seen you do glamours, Mollymauk.”

“Oh, I definitely have glamours,” Molly replies. He grins, quickly throwing up a glamour to make himself look like Beau before dropping it again. “And a few other things, but our magic is… it’s… it’s like a different part of my brain,” he tries. It’s not a perfect description, not by a long shot, but he doesn’t know how he could possibly explain what it feels like to use magic that he’s had, if not since birth, then certainly since he first awoke in this body. “So I have my normal brain, the one that deals with walking, and talking, and choosing my outfit for the day, and lets me do most of my job, and then I have my _magic_ brain. Where the magic is.”

“Like a separate consciousness?” Caleb asks, frowning.

Molly pulls a face, wiggling a hand. “Sort of? In a not at all like that kind of way? It’s just- it’s _there_. And it’s easy to access and stuff, but I’m separate from my magic. It’s like… it’s like speaking in another language that you’re fluent in. You can do it no problem, but it’s _separate._ ” He stands up, crossing to the desk, and perches on it without a second thought, still frowning to himself. “It doesn’t exactly take effort to access it, but I’m very aware that I’m doing it. Not like you with your…” he waves a hand at Caleb. “You know.”

“My what?” Caleb asks curiously. He sits back a little, tilting his head back to look up at Molly. “What do you mean by that?”

“Your…” Once again Molly trails off. He lifts a hand, flicking it dismissively in his best attempt at mimicking how Caleb uses his magic. “Your magic. How you use it. You’re all swishy with it.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “Swishy?”

“Swishy! Glamourous. Flamboyant, Caleb. You don’t think about it, you just sort of… do it.”

“Well, _ja_ ,” Caleb says. “That’s just- that is magic, Mollymauk. You do that too.”

“I know,” Molly says. Gods, why is this so hard to explain? “But you don’t think about it. You use your magic like it’s- like it’s part of you. No, not like - I know that it is, Caleb, you don’t have to look at me with that tone of eyebrow – but like it’s another limb. You treat and use your magic like I treat and use my tail. You’re aware of it, but it’s not something you ever think particularly hard about. You just use it because it’s a part of you, so you don’t have to think about it. It’s just natural, and all elegant and sexy. And it’s nice to watch,” he finished lamely.

“Oh,” Caleb says faintly.

Molly twists his hands together, running his fingertips over his freshly painted nails. They feel dry now, the surface of them smooth and glossy, and in the sunlight filtering in past the gauzy curtains they shimmer prettily, catching the light and turning a thousand shades of iridescent blue. They’re not nicer to look at than Caleb, though it’s certainly a close call, but they are _easier_ to look at. After all, he didn’t just call his nails _sexy_.

“Yeah,” he says. “I- yeah. It’s nice to watch, Caleb.”

Caleb gives a small cough, clearing his throat. “I, ah, thank you, Mollymauk.”

“Of course. Just being honest.”

“Well, thank you for your honesty.”

Molly risks looking up from his nails. Caleb’s watching him with a small, somewhat surprised looking smile, his auburn hair coming loose from its short ponytail and hanging free around his face. He looks relaxed, comfortable and content in his flannel. He doesn’t look annoyed at what Molly said.

Molly wonders somewhat absently if Caleb would be amenable to what he knows he’s about to suggest. “I like watching you work,” he admits quietly, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “If it wouldn’t be a bother, Caleb, I’d quite like to watch you doing all your…” He trails off, waving a hand at Caleb’s desk. “All your _witching_.”

Caleb smiles a little more. It’s small, barely more than a slight raise at the corners of his mouth, but there’s a warmth behind it that Molly can practically feel. “If you promise that you will not be a menace,” Caleb says, and the warmth of his smile is audible.

Molly smiles back. He can’t help it. He feels _warm_ just from hearing Caleb speak, just from having that tiny, perfect smile directed at him. “Twist my tail,” he replies. He raises his tail, moving it in front of him, and directs the two halves of it to cross where they split about a foot from the tip of his tail, in the universal sign of swearing a promise.

Caleb blinks. “What,” he says, “what does that mean”?

Molly frowns. “What does _what_ mean?”

“’Twist my tail.’”

“Oh!” Alright, so maybe not as universal as Molly thought. He looks at his tail, twisting it back and forth through the air. He’d almost forgotten that humans don’t have them. He’s aware that not every demon has one either, but in the Nine Hells the phrase is widely used by just about everyone. “It means… well, it means that I promise that I won’t be a menace.”

“Like ‘cross my heart’?”

Now it’s Molly’s turn to be confused. “What does _that_ mean? How do you cross a heart?”

Caleb lifts a hand, drawing a finger over his chest in an X-shape. “Like this. It means ‘I promise’.”

“Oh, alright. ‘Cross my heart’ is your ‘twist my tail.’”

Caleb drops his hand back down to his lap and nods. “ _Ja_ , that appears to be the case.”

“I like it.” Molly smiles. “I won’t be a menace, _ᚣ_ _ᚾ_ _ᘸ_ _Ѧ_ _ᙪ_ _ᚾᚱ_ _’_ _ᗖᖨ_ _.”_

That makes Caleb pause. “Should I… would I be correct to assume that that was ‘twist my tail’ in Infernal, Mollymauk.”

“Mhmm.”

“Hm.” Caleb nods to himself, turning his attention to the desk and drumming his fingers gently against its surface for a moment. “You know,” he says, not looking at Molly. “If it would not be a bother, I would quite like it if you could teach me some Infernal someday. So that I might make my future summons feel more at ease.” He glances up at Molly, eyes bright beneath his long lashes. “Would that be alright for you?”

Caleb looks so hopeful and so concerned that it almost makes Molly’s heart break.

“Yes,” he says immediately, “that- I- yeah, yeah, sure.” _Gods, yes_. More than alright. “Absolutely, I’d love to teach you Infernal.” Just the thought of the sharp, harsh sounds of Infernal rolling off Caleb’s tongue, touched by his accent and made utterly unique by his voice, is enough to send a shiver down Molly’s spine. “Anything in particular you want to learn?”

“Just greetings and the like,” Caleb replies. His smile is back, and small and as warm and as blinding as ever. “Things like ‘hello’, and ‘how are you’, and ‘my name is Caleb’. Useful things, you know.”

“I know,” Molly replies understandingly, as before his eyes an entire universe of opportunities makes itself known. He could teach Caleb _anything,_ and Caleb would just have to take his word for it. He could teach Caleb how to say ‘I am a rabid lemure,’ or ‘my name is Caleb and I smell like tea,’ or ‘I think Mollymauk Tealeaf is incredibly sexy,’ and Caleb would have no way of knowing it.

…Well, he might realise that something was up with the last one. Even in Infernal, Molly knows that his name is rather distinctive.

But the point is, he could teach Caleb anything. He could teach Caleb anything at all.

But he won’t.

The illusion would only last until the first demon is summoned, and Molly likes Caleb. He likes Caleb a lot. He’s definitely pranked people that he likes before, but he knows that whatever tentative relationship he has with Caleb, whatever it is, is likely so delicate that even a small prank in teaching him something rude in Infernal could ruin it. Molly doesn’t want to do that. He likes Caleb, and he wants Caleb to like him too.

“I can teach you that,” he says. “No problem.” A thought strikes him. “Although, you might have problems with some of our letters.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” From what Molly knows of human anatomy – yes, absolutely.

Caleb doesn’t seem convinced. “Why?” he asks. “I am fluent in a number of material plane languages, Mollymauk. I am sure that I can at least try my hand at yours.”

“You definitely can, I’m not saying that you can’t,” Molly says quickly, “you just might struggle with some of the letters, that’s all.”

“But why-”

“Because you’re human.”

Caleb frowns. He sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “ _Ja_ , I know that I am human. What does that have to do with it?”

“You don’t have two tongues, Caleb.”

There’s a long, long silence.

“…What?” Caleb says eventually.

Molly opens his mouth and sticks out both of his forked tongues. “’Ook,” he says, trying to speak with his mouth still open. “’oo ‘ongues.”

“Oh,” Caleb says, his ears and cheeks turning scarlet. The sudden blush makes his freckles stand out even more, highlighting the pattern of them across his cheeks. “I- oh. A-alright.”

Molly puts his tongues away and shrugs. “Sorry,” he says. “But our language does make use of it. Like ᚣ.”

For a moment, it looks like Caleb is about to try and replicate the sound that Molly just made. Molly watches as Caleb narrows his eyes, his tongue visibly moving inside his mouth for a few seconds.

After a moment, Caleb opens his mouth.

“Two tongues,” Molly reminds him.

Caleb shuts his mouth. “Fine,” he mutters, “fine. I will… I will do what I can, I suppose.”

Molly reaches out without thinking, clapping Caleb on the shoulder. “Sometimes,” he says, doing his best not to think about how dangerous Caleb would be if he _did_ have two tongues, “that’s all you can do, Caleb. I’ll teach you what I can, though,” he adds. “And honestly, Caleb, I don’t think you need to worry. I’m sure any demon would be utterly charmed if you greeted them in Infernal.”

Caleb smiles a little. “You think?”

“Oh, absolutely. Take me, for example. If you’d greeted me with tea _and_ Infernal, however accented, I’m sure I would have swooned at your feet immediately.”

Caleb’s smile widens. “It’s not nice to tease, Mollymauk.”

“I’m not teasing.” He’s not. He’s really, really not. “Just don’t think too hard about it, that’s my advice. It works marvellously for so many different scenarios.” He looks at Caleb, meeting his gaze and, just because he can, quickly raises and drops his eyebrows.

Caleb lifts a hand, covering his eyes, and gives an annoyed groan that quickly turns into a chuckle. “Gods,” he mutters, “I dread to think what would happen if I left you and Jester alone together for too long, Mollymauk.”

“You said that we got on like a house on fire,” Molly reminds Caleb, grinning.

“ _Ja_ , I did,” Caleb admits. “And I am sure that if I left you alone together for too long that might be exactly what I came back to.”

“I promise that I won’t burn down your house, Caleb.”

Caleb peeks out at Molly from beneath his fingers. “Twine your tail?” he asks, grinning just a little bit.

Molly grins back. “Twine my tail,” he agrees. “If you let me watch you do magic, and I teach you Infernal, I promise that I’ll do my utmost not to burn down your house.”

“Thank you, Mollymauk,” Caleb says. He drops his hands, sitting upright before the desk. “Well, allow me to suggest this,” He turns in his chair, and Molly very abruptly realises just how close he is to Caleb. Caleb’s face is only a handful of inches away, his scruff turning golden in the sunlight and his eyes a mesmerising shade of blue, like sapphires, or the sky of the Material Plane, or… or something else that’s very blue. Like Jester’s hair. Molly forces himself not to stare at them for too long, aware that Caleb is about to say something. “Tomorrow, when Fjord is here, you can sit outside with us and watch the summoning, and then later you can teach me some Infernal. Does that sound good?”

Molly blinks. Caleb’s eyes are _so_ fucking blue.

“…Mollymauk?”

“What?” Molly jerks back, distantly aware that he’d been leaning in a little. He lifts a hand and rubs absently at his cheek, hoping that the warmth he can feel beneath his fingers isn’t visible. “That’s- yeah, yeah, that’d be great. That’d be- yeah, that’d be really great. That’s fine. Thanks, Caleb.”

Caleb smiles a little. “Thank you for agreeing to teach me. And it is nice that you take an interest in my work, Mollymauk. I am sure that Fjord will like you, too.”

_I want you to like me_. “Wonderful. That’s very good to hear.”

“Hopefully it will stop you from being too bored.”

Molly twists his fingers together in his lap, just out of Caleb’s eyeline, and smiles back. “Caleb,” he says honestly, “I don’t think I could ever be bored around you.”

Caleb’s smile widens. “ _Ja_?”

In answer Molly lifts a hand, and draws an X over his chest. “Cross my heart.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter was done by the wonderful [@midnigtartist](http://midnigtartist.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! Chapter 7 will be posted on February 4th!


	7. Chapter 7

The day of Fjord’s monthly meeting with his patron dawns clear and sunny, greeting the sleeping members of the Widogast-Lionett-‘you really don’t need to know my surname but sure, let’s go with also Widogast’ household with gentle sunlight and the soft sound of rising birdsong. For Caleb, specifically, the day greets him by having his phone vibrate so many times that it topples off his bedside table.

He reaches down with a groan, groping around blindly until his fingers come into contact with the smooth metal surface. With another sleepy, annoyed groan he lifts his phone and clicks it awake, trying not to wince at the sudden flood of searing light.

> ***** Group Chat: gosh darn kids get off ma lawn *****
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ its that day again!!
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ nott wtf its like 7am  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ what day
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ only the most important day of the month, beau
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ oh shit you’re right
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ im right!
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ HELL YEAHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ fritters!
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ FRITTERS! FRITTERS! FRITTERS!  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ CALEB STOP BEING BORING AND WAKE THE FUCK UP ITS FRITTERS DAY  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ @Caleb Widogast  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ @Caleb Widogast  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ @Caleb Widogast  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ nott he’s ignoring me go poke him

Caleb groans again. He really hopes Nott doesn’t poke him. As he knows from experience, Nott has a remarkable skill of finding all the most painful places to poke him, even though Beau is the one who actually knows where the pressure points are located.

> _nasty crime goblin:_ im not poking him! he needs his sleep  
>  _nasty crime goblin:_ you poke him
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ your room is closer  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ @Caleb Widogast  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ @Caleb Widogast  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ nott help me out  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ @Caleb Widogast
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ no
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ nott please  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ I’ll give you my blue stone earrings
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ the really sparkly ones?
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ yes
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ deal
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ yesssssss you’re the best  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ @Caleb Widogast
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ @Caleb Widogast
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ @Caleb Widogast
> 
> _Caleb:_ Ja, ja, I am awake.

Distantly, he thinks he hears the sound of cheering through the walls.

> _nasty crime goblin:_ caleb!!!  
>  _nasty crime goblin:_ it’s fritters day!!
> 
> _Caleb:_ I am aware.  
>  _Caleb:_ Why did you have to wake me up with so many messages? You know that I always get up on time.
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ because it’s FRITTERS DAY, caleb  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ that’s why
> 
> _Caleb:_ I don’t follow. What does that have to do with this?
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ we wake you up. you give us fritters. it’s really very simple
> 
> _Caleb:_ Could you not say all of this in-person? We live in the same house, Beauregard.  
>  _Caleb:_ And you are not supposed to eat the fritters. You know this.

“ _Fuck you_!” Caleb hears through the walls.

> _Caleb:_ That was not big or clever.
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ it was very big and clever and you know it  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ anyway get up so we can summon this fuckin snake and eat the goddamn fritters
> 
> _Caleb:_ Fjord is not arriving until 2pm.
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ great! more time for us to get ready

Caleb supposes that she has a point. They did most of the preparation yesterday, with Molly even joining them in the kitchen afterwards to bake the fritters, even though he _did_ mostly hang around looking pretty and eating the ingredients when he thought Caleb wasn’t looking, but it never hurts to be prepared in advance when it comes to magic.

Besides, the earlier he gets the paddling pool out of the way, the better.

> _Caleb:_ Fine. I will make a pot of coffee in 15 minutes if anyone would like some.
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ :D
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ :D
> 
> _Caleb:_ We are still in the same house.

“ _Thank you, Caleb!”_ shouts Nott from the other end of the hallway. A moment later, he hears Beau echoing the same thought, followed by the sound of the bedroom door nearest to his opening and then closing again. There’s the soft sound of footsteps padding across carpet, and then he hears a pattern of knocks sounding at his bedroom door.

“Caleb?” comes Molly’s voice through the wood. “Why are Nott and Beau cheering so loud? What’s going on?”

“ _FRITTERS!_ ” shouts a distant voice, promptly followed by the muffled cackling of Nott’s laughter.

Molly knocks on Caleb’s door again. “Caleb?” he repeats, somehow sounding even more confused. “ _What’s happening?_ ”

\---

Molly watches with no small degree of bafflement as Caleb slowly inflates a plastic paddling pool on the patio at the back of the house, the foot pump squeaking with every press and release.

“Couldn’t you just use magic?” he asks. He sits forwards on the wooden garden bench pressed up against the wall of the house, resting his chin on one hand. “That’s got to be quicker than this, surely?”

Caleb shrugs. “Perhaps,” he admits. “But I do not know how to do that.”

“Why not?”

“It is not my area of magic.”

“…What _is_ your area of magic?”

“Oh, transmutation, mostly,” Caleb replies easily, as the foot pump continues to squeak like an asthmatic mouse. “I do dabble in other areas, of course, but transmutation is where both my talent and interest lie. Sadly, this would not be a transmutation spell.” He puts his foot down. The asthmatic foot pump gives another feeble wheeze.

Molly doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything more annoying, and it’s at that exact moment that he decides that maybe he _doesn’t_ prefer the material plane after all. It has hot witches, sure, and endless nail polish colours, and a sky that’s blue instead of red, but it also has foot pumps that sound like they’re being haunted by the ghost of a mouse in dire need of an inhaler. He stares at the foot pump, watching as it slowly rises and falls beneath Caleb’s rainboot-clad foot. Somehow, the foot pump is so annoying that he can’t even properly appreciate what Caleb’s wearing, which is a crime in and of itself. All he can do is stare at the foot pump, try not to be too obviously annoyed, and wait for the paddling pool to inflate.

For a moment, he shuts his eyes. He takes a breath, letting it settle in his lungs, and does his best to focus on any other sound. The crinkling of the plastic paddling pool. The soft sound of wind in the trees. The occasional chirp of the birds that flitter around the bird feeder set up at the end of the garden.

 _Squeak, squeak_ goes the foot pump.

Molly opens his eyes and glares at it.

“Caleb,” he says again, in his most calm and level voice, “that foot pump is driving me mad.”

That makes Caleb pause. He looks up with a slight smile, his foot stilling. “Is it the squeaking?”

“ _Yes_!” Molly exclaims, his frustrated outburst only making Caleb smile wider in an understanding way. “You have magic, Caleb! Surely you can do something about this?”

Caleb shrugs again. “As I said, Mollymauk – this is not my area of magic. I don’t exactly have any skill in air manipulation, unfortunately.”

Molly groans. “But you’re _smart_! You’re really, really smart! You could- you could silence the foot pump, or make the paddling pool inflate on its own, or _something_. C’mon, Caleb.” He looks over at him, doing his very best sad and plaintive face, which is coincidentally the same face he pulls when trying to get out of trouble. It hasn’t worked yet, but he’s sure that it will one day. It has to. The laws of statistics demand it. And, unlike Yasha, Caleb doesn’t even know that it’s his ‘trying to get out of trouble’ face. It could actually _work_.

After a moment, Caleb’s face seems to soften. His gaze flits down to the foot pump and he lifts a hand, scratching absently at his chin as he looks at it. “I suppose,” he says quietly. “I could… I could perhaps enchant the foot pump to operate on its own, but I am afraid that it would still make the noise.”

“But then we could go inside.”

“You can go inside now,” Caleb replies. He frowns a little, giving Molly an odd look. “There is nothing stopping you, Mollymauk. I extended the wards to include the garden this morning. Anyone looking in from outside will see nothing at all, and you are free to enter and leave the house through the back door as you please.”

It’s true. After making a pot of coffee for everyone and a mug of his demon-greeting tea for Molly that morning, Caleb had excused himself with his witchtome and a thermos for a few hours, stepping out of the back of the house for purposes unknown. Molly had watched him through the window as he wandered around the garden muttering to himself, waving his hands as his eyes lit up with magic and alternating between flipping through his book and taking long sips from his thermos. When he’d stepped back inside again, magic still seeping out of his skin, it had been to inform Molly that the garden had been included under the guarding wards.

Molly’s still not used to it, honestly. He’d managed to keep his excitement under wraps when he went shopping with Caleb, keeping himself distracted with clothes, and jewellery, and make-up, but he’s still not accustomed to the sky being blue. It looks so _cold_ in comparison to the deep, sullen red of the Hells, but it’s also pretty. It’s the same shade as Caleb’s eyes, and consequently Molly feels inclined to like it. That, and the cute, fluffy ‘clouds’ in it look very soft. He thinks he’d like to spend some more time outside, maybe with Jester or Caleb telling him about the plants and colourful flowers that thrive in pots placed haphazardly around the garden. If he- _when_ he goes home, he’d like to get a tattoo of one, he thinks. To remember his time here by. He’s looking forward to eventually going back to the realm and home and friends that he knows but, for now, he’s doing his best to enjoy his time here.

Over by the paddling pool, Caleb is still talking.

“And,” he’s saying, “it should be nice and quiet inside, so long as Nott is not playing her music. Fjord will not be arriving for another few hours, so you will have plenty of time to relax while I finish inflating the pool.”

Molly doesn’t pout this time, but he does feel the corners of his mouth drop a little. “I can’t talk to you from inside, though.”

“Well, no, but at least you will not have to listen to the foot pump.”

“That’s true,” Molly admits, “but you’ll still be out here.” Caleb will still be outside, and Molly will be inside without a Caleb to talk to. And he likes talking to Caleb. He really, really likes talking to Caleb. And it seems that maybe, _possibly_ , Caleb likes talking to him too.

“Is that a problem?” Caleb asks, apparently completely missing the point.

 _Yes_. “No. It’s fine.”

Caleb frowns a little. “Mollymauk?” he asks softly.

Molly crosses his arms over his chest, looking away. He had pouted earlier on purpose, but he doesn’t want to pout now. He doesn’t want Caleb to know that, even though he’s only been on this plane for a week or so, he’s already come to quite like Caleb.

At least it’s just physical attraction, though. He’s sure of that. He likes Caleb because he’s hot, and because his freckles and beard and fuzzy arms _do things_ to him, and because his eyes are really pretty, and because he can somehow look gorgeous and stunning and like all of Molly’s most unexpected fantasies combined when standing in a fish-patterned paddling pool in a pair of yellow wellies. There’s nothing beyond that. He’s sure of it. Molly is very, _very_ certain that he only likes Caleb because he’s hot, and smells nice, and has really cool magic.

It’s not like he has a _crush_ or anything. That would be absurd.

“Molly?” Caleb asks again, jolting Molly out of his thoughts. He sounds a little worried this time, like he’s actually concerned that Molly really _doesn’t_ want to go inside on his own. Which, to be fair, he doesn’t, but that’s just because he can’t appreciate Caleb as well when he’s inside and Caleb is outside. That’s it. No other reason.

Molly shrugs. “I like talking to you,” he says, in his best off-hand and flippant tone. He can’t quite tell if it hits the mark. “You’re- I don’t think Nott likes me, and Beau tolerates me, but you teach me magic, and that’s, y’know, not boring. Also, you’re the one who’s going to send me home at some point.”

“Oh,” Caleb says, his tone indecipherable. Molly risks a glance at him from under his lashes – Caleb’s frowning a little, his lower lip held between his teeth as he briefly chews at it, clearly turning something over in his head. He drums the fingers of one hand against his leg and then, still frowning, he absently shifts his weight to his other leg. The foot pump goes down. The ghost mouse inside it wheezes.

Molly winces.

“Caleb,” he says, “please, _please_ , for my sake if for no other reason, _please_ find out a way to shut that thing up.”

Caleb’s frown vanishes. He gives a soft laugh and presses the foot pump again. “Just go inside.”

“ _Caleb…_ ”

“Really, Mollymauk,” Caleb replies. “I have to inflate this, and there is no point in you being out here if you complain every time I press the foot pump.”

Molly sighs. “I suppose,” he admits.

“Go inside,” Caleb says again, his tone kind. “If you would like to be helpful while I finish inflating the paddling pool, there are a number of jars and boxes on the dining table that you could bring through. They are all labelled.”

Molly stands, brushing non-existent dirt and dust off his trousers. They’re a lovely pair of close-fitting black jeans that he found on a rack at the thrift shop, and though the fabric is somewhat different to his normal trousers back home, he can definitely appreciate the cut of them.

It would just be nice, he thinks absently, if Caleb would appreciate the cut of them too.

“I can do that,” he announces. “Any you need in particular?”

“Salt crystals, cloven shards, shed snakeskin, and there’s a small jar with little iron nails that have been reshaped into swords in it.”

Molly blinks. “You need _all_ of those?”

“…Mostly,” Caleb admits. He looks a bit sheepish, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he shrugs. “The sword-nails are more for decoration, but Fjord’s patron seems to like them. Occasionally Fjord will give it one as an offering.”

“A nail that’s been turned into a sword?”

“ _Ja_.”

“… _Why_?” It seems like the only reasonable question to ask.

Caleb shrugs again. “I don’t know. Perhaps it just likes to have swords. Patrons rarely seem to make sense, and Fjord’s patron in particular is more… unusual than most.”

“Fjord has a more unusual magical sugar daddy than most people who have a magical sugar daddy?”

Caleb glares at him.

Molly grins.

“…Go get the jars,” Caleb says eventually. He turns back to the paddling pool, punctuating his order with another squeaky wheeze from the foot pump.

Molly’s smile doesn’t falter. “Fine,” he says, stepping towards the door. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“And newspapers!” Caleb calls after him. “There should be some newspapers on the table too!”

Molly raises a hand, giving a thumbs up over his shoulder as he disappears inside. It’s the work of a moment to make his way through to the dining room, stepping past Beau and nodding at Nott as he passes her. As promised, a collection of jars are still scattered across the table from where Beau and Caleb had placed them that morning, each one neatly – or, in the case of the jars used by Nott, _less_ neatly – labelled with their contents. It doesn’t take long for Molly to pick out the required ones, nudging them to join Caleb’s empty thermos at one end of the table.

And speaking of…

Molly bites his lip between his teeth. He still has no idea why Caleb likes coffee. He’s tried it a few times since the first disastrous attempt, taking sips from Caleb’s mug whenever Caleb had offered after spotting Molly watching, but it still tastes horrible to him. Caleb had theorised that it might be because demon tongues are different to human tongues, and he’s certainly not wrong there, but Molly thinks it might be something else. But either way, Caleb seems to like the vile stuff, and he seems to like to have it on hand whenever he’s doing a lot of magic. And today seems to be the very definition of a lot of magic.

Molly glances over at the kitchen. Nott is puttering around, pulling items out of the fridge and pushing around her little step-stool so that she can reach the taller cupboards. The kettle sits on the side, currently not in use. Molly thinks he knows how to work it. From what he can tell you just fill it with water, put it back on it’s baseplate-thing, press the button, and then the water boils. He knows where the coffee is, too.

He doesn’t know how to actually make it.

“…Nott?” he calls.

In the kitchen Nott pauses, one knee on a counter as she stretches up for the cupboard above her head. “Yeah?” she asks warily, looking over at Molly.

Molly swallows. “Could you- how do- could you show me how to make coffee, please?”

Nott’s frown deepens. “But you hate coffee.”

“I was going to make Caleb some,” he admits, lifting the thermos. “I thought he might like it.”

For a few seconds, a flurry of different expressions cross Nott’s face, flickering and changing too fast for Molly to be able to tell them apart. After a while she seems to settle on one halfway between thoughtful and distrustful, and nods at the thermos. “Put that on the side,” she says, “I’ll make the coffee.”

“Thank you,” Molly says gratefully. He quickly deposits the thermos where indicated before turning back to the jars, double checking that he has all the ones he needs as Nott sets the kettle to boiling. After a few minutes she calls him back to pass him the full thermos; he adds it to the stack in his arms, the newspapers tucked up against his chest, and makes his way back through the house to the back door in the living room.

Molly takes a moment just to stand at the open sliding door onto the patio, watching as Caleb continues to inflate the paddling pool. He’s dressed in perhaps the plainest outfit that Molly has seen him wearing yet, which only makes it all the more annoying that he looks so fucking _hot_. His feet are encased in a pair of spotty yellow wellies that cover his ratty, worn-looking jeans to mid-calf, and beyond that he’s wearing an age-softened, loose white t-shirt, his ever-present Archheart pendant, and _nothing else_. There’s not even a cardigan, or a jacket, or a hoodie, or _anything_ at all to cover up his arms and shoulders. Molly can see freckles scattered across Caleb’s arms, beneath the fuzz. He wants to touch them.

That’s not even the worst of it, though.

The worst of it is that Caleb has once again got his hair tied back in a ponytail, a few wisps escaping to hang loose around his face, and periodically he lifts a hand to brush them back from his face. It’s a tiny thing, so small it should be completely irrelevant, but Molly can’t make himself look away. He wants to know if Caleb’s hair is really as soft as it looks. He wants to know if the tuft of hair peeking from the vee of Caleb’s t-shirt actually covers his whole chest.

Distantly, he wonders what would happen if the thin t-shirt that Caleb’s wearing were to get wet, and then a voice beside him says “ _Dude_ ,” and Molly jumps so hard he nearly drops the jars.

“ _ᗖ_ _ᚳ_ _Ѧ_ _ᚣ_ _ᱡ_ _!_ ” he swears vehemently. He scrambles for a moment, desperately trying to make sure that none of the stacked items balanced in his arms plummet to the ground, and after a few moments of frantic juggling he feels relatively sure that everything is secure. He turns to where Beau is now standing beside him, having seemingly snuck up on him using some insanely stealthy skills that he was, up until now, completely unaware of. “Don’t _do_ that!”

“Woah,” Beau says. She steps back, raising her hands, and grins at Molly. “Fuck, dude. What got you so jumpy?”

“You did,” Molly snaps back. He huffs to himself, curling the two ends of his tail around his ankle in a comforting gesture. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. I could have dropped all this and then we’d have glass all over the floor.”

“You could’ve been paying attention.”

“I _was_ paying attention.”

“Oh yeah?” Beau asks. “To what?” Molly doesn’t answer. Beau’s gaze flits between him and the door, darting back and forth a few times before settling on Molly’s face. “What were you watching?”

“Nothing,” Molly answers quickly.

Too quickly, apparently. Beau raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms across her chest. “Uh-huh,” she says disbelievingly. She glances out of the glass panes of the sliding door, looking over to where Caleb is still inflating the paddling pool, scrolling absently through his phone as he does so. “So you weren’t looking at Caleb?”

“No,” Molly says. He wasn’t. He definitely wasn’t. He was just looking into the garden, and it just so happened that Caleb was also there. That’s not his fault. And if his gaze happened to settle on Caleb, and on Caleb’s arms, and on Caleb’s thighs, then he surely, surely can’t be blamed for that. He stands up a little straighter, holding the jars close to his chest, and lets his tail flick slowly behind him in a manner that any demon would interpret as being a representation of complete and utter honesty.

Unfortunately for him, Beau isn’t a demon. She somehow raises her eyebrow even higher, looking unnervingly similar to how Frumpkin looked when he caught Molly smelling the collar of Caleb’s shirt.

Molly swallows.

“I wasn’t,” he says, trying to keep his tone away from ‘protesting’ and more towards ‘reassuring’. “Beauregard, I assure you, I was just looking at the garden.” Not technically a lie. After all, Caleb was in the garden. “Did you know that we don’t have a blue sky in the Nine Hells? Or flowers like yours?”

It’s a strange enough question to apparently catch Beau off-guard. She blinks, her eyebrows once again returning to their normal locations, and then frowns at Molly. “Seriously?”

“Mhmm. Cross my heart.”

Beau’s face changes into something considering. “Damn,” she says.

“Yeah. It’s really fucking weird for me to look at your sky, I can tell you that much.”

Beau nods, looking thoughtful. “Fuck, yeah, I can imagine it would be. Have you got, like, plants and shit? What’s it like down there?”

Molly shrugs. He drums his fingers against the jars he’s holding, shifting around to lean one shoulder against the wall, still looking out through the door. “It’s… well, it’s different.”

“No shit.”

“Shut up, I’m still talking.” He pauses for a moment, waiting to see if Beau will interrupt again, and when she doesn’t, he continues. “It’s much warmer, for starters. I’m from the third of the Nine Hells but I’ve been to a few of the others, and if I’m _entirely_ honest with you, they’re all basically the same.”

“What’s the difference between them?” Beau asks.

“Social class, mostly. And profession. Stuff like that. But visually, they’re all the same. Identical. Maybe the deeper levels have got some bigger devils and they’re a bit more glamourous, but that’s about it. Mostly, they’re just… red.”

Beau raises an eyebrow. “Red?”

“Red rock, red sky, red lava. That or black. There’s a lot of black, grey, and red in the Hells.” Molly huffs out a sigh. On the other side of the glass the leaves on the trees sway to and fro in the slight breeze, occasionally shedding the odd spring petal. It’s so, so much more colourful than the Hells. “We do have colour, but not as much as you have here. We have to _make_ it. We can’t just look outside and see all…” he waves a hand. “ _That_. If you see anything colourful in the Nine Hells, it’s manufactured or magical.”

“Or you,” Beau points out.

Molly can’t stop the burst of laughter from escaping him. “Yes,” he admits, “or it’s me.” He steps away from the wall, trying to figure out how to open the door with arms full of newspapers, jars, and a thermos. “And I will tell you more about the Nine Hells later if you so wish, but first I need to get all this to Caleb.”

“You want a hand with the door?”

“Please.”

Beau opens the door for him and he slips outside, carefully balancing everything as he approaches the pool.

“Caleb!” he calls. “I got your stuff!”

Caleb looks up, his entire face brightening at Molly’s arrival. Molly tries not to think about Caleb’s smile too much. After all, he’s sure the witch is only smiling because of the spell ingredients that Molly is bringing with him. It doesn’t have anything to do with Molly’s presence. He’s sure of it.

“Ah, wonderful!” Caleb says. He gives the foot pump one last press and then steps away, quickly gesturing towards the small outside table. “Could you just leave them there? I have just about finished inflating the pool.”

Molly nods, quickly depositing the jars where instructed as Caleb bends down to seal the paddling pool. “I got you your thermos as well,” he says, turning around to wave it at Caleb before setting it down. “Full of coffee for you. Just in case.” For a moment, he thinks he sees Caleb’s expression soften. _Ignore it. Don’t get attached_. “Anyway,” he continues, just as Caleb opens his mouth to speak, “you never actually told me why you need a paddling pool for this spell.”

Caleb blinks. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, _ja_ , I suppose I haven’t. Well, ah, Fjord’s patron can be quite… damp.”

Molly feels his eyes widen. “Damp?”

“ _Ja_. Um… soggy? We need saltwater to summon it and it tends to drip everywhere. The paddling pool helps to keep that contained.”

Molly nods slowly. “Right,” he says. “So you’re telling me that Fjord has a wet sugar daddy?”

Caleb’s eyes narrow. Molly grins brightly back at him, slowly stepping back towards the door.

“And,” he continues, “on a completely unrelated note, I need to go back inside now. For no reason at all. I will leave you out here to continue preparing for the arrival of a moist sugar daddy.” He pivots on one foot, striding towards the door, and hears a long, frustrated groan from behind him.

“Molly?” Caleb calls.

Molly pauses at the door. “Yeah?” he asks cautiously, turning to look back at Caleb.

Caleb’s face, which had looked so completely done in the wake of Molly’s earlier comment, softens slightly. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“Oh!” Molly says. He wasn’t expecting that. “No problem.” He smiles at Caleb, and Caleb smiles back. “Now are you going to finish preparing this summoning or what?”

Caleb’s smile widens. “I suppose I should,” he admits, and goes back to work.

\---

Fjord arrives shortly before 2pm, greeting Beau and Nott enthusiastically at the door when they open it to let him in. Molly doesn’t see him immediately but he can hear him chatting with the two of them at the front door, and a few minutes later he hears them approaching the living room.

“By the way,” Beau is saying, her voice echoing down the corridor, “Caleb messaged you about Molly, right? Our… guest?”

“He did,” replies a voice that Molly can only assume is Fjord’s. “Something about a- a summoning gone wrong, or something like that?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” says Nott. The three of them round the corner into the living room, and Molly gets his first look at the man called ‘Fjord’.

He’s a tall, broad-shouldered man with short-cut black hair shot through with a silver streak at the temple, his dark skin lightening in patches around his mouth and neck from vitiligo. A brown backpack is slung over one shoulder above his jacket and flannel, giving his general look a vibe that somehow strikes the exact middle ground between ‘college student, ‘mild jock’, and what Molly could only call ‘beach cowboy’, despite having never seen a beach.

Like Caleb, he is also wearing wellies. His are designed to look like cowboy boots.

Fjord freezes the moment he notices Molly, locking up right in the doorway. There’s a soft _thump_ from behind him, followed by a quiet and pointed ‘ _ow_ ’ from Nott, but Fjord doesn’t react. He’s still just staring at Molly, his eyes darting from his red eyes, to his curled horns, to the tail swishing lazily back and forth by his feet.

Molly stares back. “…Hi?” he says eventually, when it becomes apparent that Fjord isn’t going to speak first.

There the sound of shuffling and then Beau ducks under Fjord’s arm, giving him a shove that sends him stumbling through the door. “Fjord,” she says, “this is our guest, Mollymauk. Molly, this is Fjord.”

Fjord blinks.

Quietly, Molly sighs. It looks like he’ll have to take the initiative on this meeting. “Hey,” he says, swinging his legs off the couch. He stands up and stretches before crossing the room to Fjord, holding his hand out. “I’m Mollymauk, as stated, but you can call me Molly.”

Fjord takes his hand. “I’m, uh, I’m Fjord,” he replies. Molly can tell that he’s trying his best not to stare – he keeps looking at Molly’s eyes and then looking away, as if he’s not entirely sure of what to do. “Fjord T-”

“Nuh-uh,” says Nott, at the exact same time that Beau elbows him in the side.

“Names,” Beau reminds him. Fjord glowers at her, rubbing at his side with his free hand before letting go of Molly’s hand.

“Gotcha,” he mutters, “I’m- yup, remembering that.”

“Because he’s a demon,” Beau elaborates. “So, like, don’t go giving your name out and all that. Because… demon.”

“Thank you, Beau,” Fjord says. “For informing me that Mollymauk here is a demon. I hadn’t noticed in the slightest. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Beau grins. “Get eaten by your creepy boss, probably.”

“Ooh, or sell your soul to a demon!” Nott pipes up.

“Yeah. Or accidentally pick up a curse.”

“Or work for _another_ creepy boss because you didn’t read the-”

“Alright, alright, that is enough slanderin’ of my name,” Fjord interrupts, batting Nott and Beau away as he steps towards the door. “Need I remind you that I technically count as a _client_?”

“You’re Caleb’s client, not mine,” Nott points out, but she’s grinning.

“Yeah, and you’re our friend,” Beau adds, “which means that we’re allowed to tell you if you’re being dumb.”

“Like you were just then.”

“Yeah. Because Molly’s a demon. And if you give a demon your actual name, real bad shit can happen.” She glances over at Molly. “No offense meant, man.”

Molly waves a hand, following as Fjord moves towards the back door. “Please, none taken.” He gives Beau his best demon grin, flashing all six eyes open for just a moment.

To her credit, Beau barely flinches.

“Dude,” she says flatly, “why the fuck have you got so many eyes?”

“Why have you got so _few_ eyes?”

“Genetics,” she replies. “Do all demons have six eyes?”

Molly snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous. That would be like you telling me that all humans have two eyes.”

“We do.”

“Good one,” Molly says, stepping through the door and into the garden after Nott. “I’m not stupid, though. I’m not going to fall for that.”

“Molly-”

“Nope!” Molly replies. He makes his way to the bench, flopping down on it as Beau leans back against the wall. Fjord is already standing by the paddling pool, watching on as Nott and Caleb quietly discuss something over by the table. “I’m learning, Beau. You humans can do all sorts of weird things. And honestly, I can’t imagine you guys could’ve survived this long if you _all_ only had two eyes.” He smirks at her. “Can’t catch me out that easily.”

Beau gives him a disbelieving look and shakes her head. “Fine,” she says. “Suit yourself.”

There’s the sound of jars clinking together over by the table, and Molly turns his attention back to the ritual that’s about to start. This, he feels, should be quite good fun to watch.

“Alright,” Fjord says, clapping his hands together as he steps into the paddling pool. “Caleb, we ready to get this show on the road?”

 _“Ja_ , I am ready.”

Molly watches as Caleb steps up to the side of the paddling pool, crushing a handful of dried snakeskin in one hand. He starts waving and flexing his other hand, muttering under his breath as the magic swells and glows behind his eyes. It’s mesmerising to watch. It reminds Molly of what Caleb had looked like when he’d tried to banish Molly over and over again, but when that had been going on Molly had been less concerned with checking Caleb out and more concerned with the state of his sadly abandoned bath.

Now, though, he can watch Caleb to his heart’s content.

He leans back against the bench, crossing his legs as Caleb starts to move around the paddling pool, tracing faint symbols and sigils in the air. They flare to life as he completes each one, pulsing with the soft amber-gold light of his magic, and within a few minutes the entire pool has been surrounded by symbols. Caleb steps back, grabbing another handful of spell ingredients off the table, and repeats the process, adding more symbols to the collection drifting in slow, concentric circles around Fjord and the paddling pool. He stops moving only once he’s standing opposite Fjord, safely outside the rings of sigils.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yup,” Fjord replies. “Go ahead, Caleb.”

Caleb nods. He presses his hands together and then, in one abrupt move, wrenches them apart.

The saltwater in the paddling pool suddenly leaps up, rising up into a tall, vertical pillar of twisting, slowly moving water just opposite Fjord. It hangs in the air for a moment, dripping gently onto the base of the paddling pool, and then between one moment and the next the water grows dark, splits down the centre, and opens up into a void.

On the other side of the portal, a large, golden eyeball snaps open.

“ **Wᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ** ,” it says.

Molly shivers. The word had arrived inside his head like a block of granite dropping into place, entering his brain without once touching his ears. He reaches up, rubbing slightly at the side of his head, and catches Caleb’s eye. The witch gives him a small, understanding smile, and then looks back towards the open portal.

“ **Wᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ** ,” the being says again.

Fjord swallows. “Uh, hi,” he says, raising a hand in a small wave. “How’ve- ahem, how’ve you been?”

The eyeball narrows. “ **Pᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴛ**.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m a bit late on this meeting, and I apologise for that. I’ve been busy with class and stuff. Gotta keep my grades up.”

In a remarkably normal action, the eyeball of what Molly can only assume is Fjord’s patron rolls. “ **Pᴏᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟ** ,” it mutters.

“I know. That’s why I’m going to class and studying and all that. I’m gonna do my learning so that I can tell you more stuff and help you out. This is a two-way deal, remember?” Fjord raises an eyebrow. “ _Remember_? If you want me to be the best warlock for you, you’ve got to let me do my own thing from time to time.”

There’s no word this time, but Molly hears – or, more accurately, _feels_ – a sound that could best be described as an annoyed huff.

“ **Sᴛᴜᴅᴇɴᴛs** ,” the eyeball grumbles dismissively, “ ** _Exᴀᴍs_**.”

“Hey, you don’t even have to take them.” Fjord pauses, and then adds, “Although, I do appreciate the help in the last one. That was useful.”

“ **Jᴇʟʟʏʙᴀʙɪᴇs**.”

“Yeah, I can get you more Jellybabies if you really want. Though it was fuckin’ weird poking them into your freaky eyeball in my hand, I’ll tell you that much. I don’t know how I would’ve explained that to an examination observer.”

“ **Tᴀᴛᴛᴏᴏ**?”

“You were a bit too 3D and void-ey to be a tattoo, bud,” Fjord says, and then he claps his hands together. “Anyway, enough chit-chat! We’ve got stuff to discuss. First of all-”

“ **Cᴏɴsᴜᴍᴇ** ,” interrupts Fjord’s patron, in a voice like thunder in a cathedral.

Fjord sighs. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Consume, sure, you got it.” He glances over his shoulder back at Caleb. “Caleb? Have you got the, uh-”

“ _Ja_ , I have apple fritters for your patron.”

Through the gap between worlds, a single large, yellow eye glimmers menacingly and shifts its gaze towards Caleb.

“ **Fʀɪᴛᴛᴇʀs** ,” rumbles the patron. “ **Rᴇᴡᴀʀᴅ**.”

Wordlessly, Caleb passes the tray of fritters to Fjord. The patron’s eye tracks it the whole time as it passes from witch to warlock, and the moment it’s within the confines of the paddling pool a small, black tentacle slips out from the portal, and inches towards Fjord.

Fjord slaps it away.

“Hey,” he says. “Wait your turn.”

“ **Rᴇᴡᴀʀᴅ** ,” the patron says, more petulantly. “ ** _Fʀɪᴛᴛᴇʀs_**.”

“You will get fritters once we have spoken,” Fjord says, holding the tray at arms length. The tentacle curls in on itself a little, the eye inside the portal lowering and looking away. Fjord sighs. “Fine,” he says. He plucks one fritter off the tray and chucks it towards the portal. A tentacle grabs it mid-arc, yanking it through the air and towards the eyeball.

Inside the portal there’s a flash of black and yellow light.

Outside the portal, a small shower of crumbs falls into the paddling pool.

“God-damn sea beast,” Fjord mutters to himself, brushing a crumb off his jacket. “Millenia old, my _ass_. You’d think it’d learn a little patience by now.”

From his spot outside the boundaries of the paddling pool, Caleb crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs.

“ _Ja_ , well, it _is_ an incredibly powerful entity, Fjord,” he says. “I think patience can be bypassed if you are able to control the oceans.”

“Hey, _no-one_ is too powerful for patience,” Fjord replies. Molly watches as, unseen by Fjord, a tentacle quietly takes another fritter from the tray and draws it back towards the portal. “Even nine-eyed McGee over here.”

“ **Uᴋ'ᴏᴛᴏᴀ,** ” grumbles the patron.

“Sorry. Uk’otoa McGee,” Fjord corrects himself. “And, look - don’t give me that face, Caleb, c’mon - yeah, it might be super powerful and kind of my creepy magic boss, but it’s not too good for a little bit of patience. I swear to you, by the time I’m done with whatever weird deal I signed up for-”

“By not listening to the terms and conditions.”

“-Yeah, sure, that was my bad, I admit that, but _once I’m done with it_ you see if Uk’otoa McGee doesn’t have a little more patience.”

“Uk’otoa McGee just ate half the fritters,” Molly calls out.

“ _What?_ ” Fjord spins around, splashing water over the edge of the paddling pool, and starts rapidly batting tentacles away from the tray, holding it up above his head. “No. _No_! We have _talked_ about this!”

“ ** _Fʀɪᴛᴛᴇʀs_** _!_ ”

“You will get your damn fritters when we finish this meeting!”

Caleb sighs and steps back from the pool. “At this point I normally just leave them to it,” he remarks, dropping down on the bench next to Molly. He lifts a hand, brushing his slightly damp hair out of his eyes. Molly tries not to stare.

Molly fails.

In the process of summoning Uk’otoa McGee, and in the resulting fritters-based splashing, Caleb hadn’t been able to entirely avoid the splashing water. His thin shirt isn’t exactly _soaked_ , but it’s definitely damp enough in places that it’s clinging to his skin, hugging the soft curves of his shoulders and following the line of his waist. It’s annoyingly distracting. Molly’s not sure if it’s just his eyes playing a trick on him, but he thinks he can see freckles through it. He watches as, seemingly unnoticed by Caleb, a single droplet of water runs down his cheek, slips down his neck, and pools in the divot of his collarbone.

Molly swallows. This is not good. This is very not good. He desperately yanks his gaze away from Caleb, focusing intently on the activities going on in the paddling pool. He has absolutely no idea what’s happening, or what the context of the meeting even is, but watching Fjord communicate with his patron is definitely at least a little bit distracting.

After a while, Nott speaks up.

“I’m bored,” she announces, apparently no longer entertained by Fjord giving a stern talking-to to an interdimensional entity that is, as far as Molly can make out, primarily comprised of glowing yellow eyeballs and weird scaly tentacles. “I’m going to see what’s on TV. Anyone want to join me?”

“Sure,” Beau says.

Next to Molly, Caleb shrugs. “I think I will,” he says. “If Fjord needs me, he knows how to get my attention. And it looks like it’s going well.”

Molly looks back at the paddling pool. Inside it, Fjord is doing his best to hold the tray of fritters behind his back as he kicks away tentacles and flings newspapers through the portal, occasionally stopping to read aloud particularly interesting or bizarre articles. “This is it going _well_?”

“Oh, yeah,” Beau says, as Nott slides open the door. “For starters, it hasn’t spat any swords at him.”

“It hasn’t _what_?”

“Last time it did that, we had to get a whole new paddling pool.”

“I liked the old paddling pool,” Caleb says mournfully, standing and following Nott inside. Molly, almost without thinking, follows suit. “It had marine dinosaurs on it. This one just has fish.”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re gutted at the loss of the Nessie paddling pool,” Beau mutters, clapping Caleb on the back before taking her usual seat on one of the couches.

“It was a good paddling pool.”

“It was,” Beau admits, “but sometimes you just have to accept your losses, Caleb. Like, you don’t hear me complaining about my missing protein powder, do you?”

“No, but that is because you complained about it for a week straight.”

“Um,” says Nott quietly from the corner.

“Well, yeah, but I needed it then. I don’t need it now, so it’s fine.”

“I needed the paddling pool when a sword got stabbed through it!”

“ _Um_ ,” Nott says again, more loudly.

Beau turns to look at her. “What?”

“…I may have stolen your protein powder.”

“ _What_?” Beau exclaims. “Why?”

“Jester told me it was useful! I was at the gym with her and she suggested that I get some, but I didn’t want to buy some of my own if it was disgusting, so I just borrowed yours!”

“You could have _asked_. You know I would’ve let you have some.”

“Too late to do anything about it now,” Nott says, though she does sound genuinely apologetic. “Sorry, Beau.”

Beau sighs. “It’s alright,” she says. “It’s not too late to kick your ass, though.”

Nott’s eyes light up. “Oh?”

“Yeah. C’mon, powdermonkey, you gonna show me that you put that powder to good use or what?” Beau slips off the couch with a grin, adopting a wrestling stance in the middle of the room.

“Oh, Gods,” Caleb mutters. He smiles to himself and shakes his head, slouching against the couch as Nott beams wider and joins Beau in the middle of the room.

“You’re not going to kick my ass,” she says proudly, “because I am going to kick _your_ ass.”

Beau grins. “Bring it,” she says, and then it’s just a blur of limbs.

Caleb catches Molly’s eye, smiling at him as Beau and Nott continue to roll around on the floor. It’s a soft smile, a friendly one – it’s a smile of shared amusement, as though Molly is just as important and close to him as Nott or Beau are. He raises an eyebrow, glancing at the two wrestling idiots, and then looks back at Molly with a shake of his head that very clearly reads _Look at these dorks_.

Molly can’t help but smile back. He feels it spreading across his face as he likewise glances down at Beau and Nott, and then he looks back at Caleb. He stretches his feet out in front of him, still maintaining eye contact, and mimes eating snacks while watching them fight as though they were a show that both he and Caleb were amongst the audience of.

Caleb’s smile breaks into a grin, just for a moment, and he lifts a hand to cover his mouth as a single bubble of laughter bursts forth from him. The sound of his laugh is barely audible over the scuffling, but Molly hears it all the same. It’s soft, and quiet, and it’s possibly one of the best sounds that Molly has ever heard.

 _Don’t get a crush_ , he thinks to himself as Caleb shakes his head, still grinning behind his hand, and looks back at Mollymauk with laughter in his eyes. _For the love of all the gods and devils, Mollymauk, do not get a crush_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be going up on February 13th!


	8. Chapter 8

It’s weeks later, and Molly still isn’t home.

Caleb doesn’t want for it to feel like a project that’s been pushed to the backburner, but it does, because it is. Even with Molly in his life, he still has clients to meet, spells to prepare, texts to decode, and the occasional consequences of decoding those texts to avoid. He’s still busy, as busy as he ever was, and with every passing day banishing Molly slips further and further from his mind, and he feels worse and worse about it.

To Molly’s credit, he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s still as bright and cheerful and talkative as he was the first day he arrived, dressing himself up in patterns and colours and painting his nails all manner of shades. He starts to teach Nott different nail painting techniques only to lament at the lack of certain _completely necessary_ items that don’t exist in the material plane, and between the two of them they apparently seem to figure something out. He spends time hanging out with Beau, complaining about the struggles and woes of trying to pull on shirts and sweaters that weren’t designed for horns, resulting in her returning home one day and throwing a long, loose, flowing cardigan directly at his head.

He settles in, above all. He falls into place like he had always been there, despite the very obvious differences between him and the other members of the household, and, over the next few days and eventual weeks, Caleb almost forgets the strangeness of Molly’s purple skin, and his red eyes, and his curling, twisting horns. He almost forgets that Molly doesn’t belong here.

And it seems, to a certain extent, that Molly forgets too. He’s never complained once about being stuck on the material plane, apparently greatly enjoying his time in the Widogast-Lionett-Nott household. Beau doesn’t mind him being there, taking great delight in teaching him the ins and outs of assorted material plane sports. Nott doesn’t mind him being there, enjoying late night gossiping sessions in her magpie’s nest of a bedroom. Caleb doesn’t mind him being there – he likes talking to Molly, finding himself smiling more easily around him than he does around almost anyone else. He’s just _nice_ , and happy, and he really doesn’t seem to mind being stuck on the material plane one bit.

Or, he doesn’t seem to mind outwardly. Outwardly, he’s loud, and happy, and waves off any of Caleb’s occasional apologies about the time taken to send him home.

“It’s fine,” he says, a bright smile hanging just in front of his face. “Really, Caleb, I assure you that I’m having an absolutely lovely time here with you all.”

Caleb doesn’t like it when Molly smiles like that. He’s not stupid; he’s worn many a mask in his life, and he recognises one when he sees it. He knows that Molly is lying, or at least hiding the truth.

The few times that he’s glimpsed behind the mask only add to that feeling.

On more than one occasion now he’s caught Molly going quiet and still in the middle of a comfortable evening with the rest of the household, his fingers stilling in Frumpkin’s fur as the cat continues to purr on his lap. Molly tends to look sad in those small, fleeting moments, his whole face falling a little as his gaze settles on something that Caleb cannot see. It’s like the friendly bickering of Nott and Beau has reminded him of something; it’s like this sudden awareness of the comfort and familiarity that exists within this group has reminded him that this is not his place. That this is not his home.

They’re tiny moments, miniscule, and Caleb hates them every time he sees them.

Because if he sees these ones, how many does he miss? How many times does Molly’s face fall into that awful, terrible, gut-wrenching expression of loneliness and loss when Beau and Nott and Caleb himself aren’t around to keep him distracted? How often does Molly’s smile flicker a little when Caleb mentions how sorry he is that Molly isn’t home yet? How often does Molly glance away – and Caleb is getting so very, _very_ good at following pupil-less eyes now – when he realises that something that is so core, so completely normal and regular to his life back home, doesn’t exist here at all?

How much does Molly miss his home?, Caleb wonders.

The answer, unknown but obvious to him, is ‘a lot’. It is, quite literally, ‘a hell of a lot.’

Molly has never been away from home for this long in his entire remembered life. He’s been to other levels of the Hells, and he’s been on trips of several weeks, but nothing like this. Nothing unplanned, and unexpected, and nothing that’s brought him into the material plane for this long. He doesn’t know what to _do_ here – things are different in small, uncomfortable ways, and everything that he would normally have to entertain himself with is, quite literally, a world away. Beau and Nott and Caleb try their best to help, introducing him to many of the marvels that the material plane has to offer, but it’s not the same.

He doesn’t want to let it show, though. He doesn’t want to upset Caleb. He _likes_ Caleb, likes him far, far more than he knows he should, and to see Caleb’s face fall a little every time he tells Molly, once again, that he’s hit a dead end in his research makes Molly’s heart squeeze. He knows that Caleb is trying; he can see it every day, especially now that Caleb has given Molly open permission to join him in his office whenever he’s working on something. They’ve spent several quiet afternoons together now, holed up in Caleb’s study as Molly explores the ‘internet’ on a ‘tablet’ that Beau had lent him and Caleb works away at something at his desk. Occasionally Caleb will say something, or ask Molly if he can fetch him a jar, or a book, or something from one of his countless, creaking bookcases, and from there Molly will lean against the back of Caleb’s chair, watching over his shoulder until Caleb starts explaining everything with a small, faint smile.

It’s nice. It’s so, so nice. Caleb is sweet, and kind, and dedicated and hardworking and smart and more intelligent than anyone that Molly has ever met. He knows so much, about so many things, and the way he lights up when talking about something that he really, truly loves is almost mesmerising to watch. It makes his eyes shine impossibly brighter, makes him smile wider than he normally does, and, most wonderfully, it makes him lean in closer to Molly. Molly tends to lose track of the conversation right about then, when Caleb shifts in so close than he can smell the woodsmoke-paper- _magic_ scent that hangs about him; he smells comforting, familiar for all that they’ve barely known each other for very long at all in the grand scheme of things. He smells like he belongs in Molly’s life.

He smells, wonderfully, perfectly, _frustratingly_ , like home.

And that doesn’t help. It doesn’t stop Molly from missing his home. None of this stops him from missing his home. Not the conversations, or the distractions, or even the delight that comes from watching Caleb wield his magic with hardly a thought. Molly likes Caleb, and he likes Beau, and he likes Nott and he really, _really_ likes talking with Jester, but they’re not his friends. They’re not the people that he knows. He likes them, and he knows that they are all genuinely doing their best to help him, but he can’t trust him. Not in the same, instinctive way that he trusts Yasha, and Caduceus, and everyone else that he considers himself close to.

He doesn’t even trust Caleb. He wants to, and he does on some surface level, but at the core of it, in his heart, he doesn’t. He _can’t_. He hasn’t known Caleb for long enough. And, for all his charms – and he has so many, many charms – he is not one of the people in Molly’s small circle of friends.

All of which, really, just makes him miss his home even more. But he won’t let it show. He _can’t_ let it show. He can’t upset these people who have accepted him into their lives as best they can, worked to accommodate him, and are now doing everything in their power to send him home. He can’t upset Caleb.

And so he does his very best to remain bright, and cheerful, and happy, and he carefully holds everything back until he knows that no-one is around to see it.

\---

The clock on his laptop says it’s nearing 1am when Caleb finally pushes himself back from his desk, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes as he looks over the notes strewn out before him. He’d been working on finalising a decoding of a book for a client he’s meeting with in a few days – some man called Mr Emeritus who’d sent him the book in the post and arranged a meeting later over email – and he’d somehow lost track of where the end point in the decoding was meant to be. He’s fairly certain that he’s accidentally decoded an entire extra chapter, but he can’t imagine Mr Emeritus will mind. It doesn’t hurt to have a reputation as a witch who goes above and beyond.

He stands with a stretch, feeling his joints click and crack as they finally move after hours of sitting motionless. Now that he’s actually aware of himself again, no longer entirely engrossed in the tome before him and the decryption key he’d developed, he can feel the ache in his limbs, the dryness at the back of his throat that tells him that he should really, _really_ get a drink of water if he doesn’t want to wake up halfway through the night. It’s annoying, but he knows better than to ignore it.

Caleb sighs, rubs at his eyes for a moment, and then crosses to the door. He steps out of his room, feet soundless on the carpeted floor, and is halfway through carefully shutting his door behind him when he hears a quiet, muffled sob.

_Nott_ , he thinks for one horrible, heart-stopping moment, but then the sound comes again. It isn’t coming from Nott’s room, or from Beau’s.

It’s coming from Molly’s.

For a long moment, all Caleb can do is stand frozen in place. He doesn’t know what to do. The polite thing, he thinks, would be to go downstairs, get his glass of water, and then return to bed and pretend that nothing happened. The polite thing to do would be to let Molly keep up his façade of contentment that he’s been trying so hard to maintain.

The polite thing would be to leave Molly alone, and go back to bed, and try to forget that he heard anything at all.

Caleb takes a breath, shuts his eyes for a moment, and then steps up to Molly’s door and gives it two quiet knocks.

There’s a long, frozen moment of stillness.

Then, on the other side of the door, he hears a quiet sniffle. “Who is it?”

“Me,” Caleb says. He clears his throat, raising his voice slightly. “Um. It’s Caleb.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause, punctuated by another sniffle. In the darkness of the hallway, it feels like the only sound around. “What do you want?”

“I, ah… is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Caleb.”

From the tone of Molly’s voice, it certainly doesn’t sound like everything’s okay – his voice is quiet, soft and wavering and catching in the middle the way words do when they’re trying to mask tears, and Caleb hates it. He doesn’t want to hear Molly crying. He doesn’t want to hear Molly crying alone in the silence and darkness of his bedroom, and he doesn’t know why he feels so strongly about this demon who’s barely been in his life for a month, but he does. He wants Molly to be okay. He wants for everything to actually be fine.

After a moment’s thought he quietly clears his throat. “Can I come in?” he asks. There’s a few seconds of hesitation, and then Molly replies.

“Yes.”

Caleb reaches out, twists the door handle, and steps inside.

“I’m sorry,” Molly says. He’s sitting upright in bed, the duvet pooled around his waist and painted in the sodium flare of the streetlamps outside. “I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean to wake you, Caleb. Go back to bed.”

Caleb frowns. He doesn’t move further inside the room, but he doesn’t step back either. Molly only sounds worse without the barrier of the door in the way – his voice is thick and choked, and as Caleb listens, he hears another tiny sob force its way from Molly’s lungs. Molly gives a small sniffle, reaching up to brush at his cheeks with the pad of one thumb, and it’s then that Caleb makes his decision.

“Molly,” he says quietly, “are you- are you alright?”

Molly shrugs helplessly. “Yeah?” he says, but the word is just as softly shattered as all of his previous ones. “I mean, I’m- I’m not hurt, or anything like that. I’m good. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t sound fine. He sounds very, very far from fine, and Caleb doesn’t know what to do. He knows what he wants to do, though. He wants to get closer, and be close to Molly if Molly would like for him to be, and do whatever he can to offer Molly comfort.

And, this late at night, when his brain is no longer ticking along at quite its normal speed, Caleb cannot find it in himself to remind himself why that could be a bad idea.

“Do you mind if I…?” he asks, waving a hand at the bed. Molly gives a small smile, shrugging again, and then pats the duvet to his left.

“Go ahead.”

It’s not a big bed, Caleb realises almost as soon as he sits down next to Molly, stretching his legs out as he rests back against the headboard. He can faintly feel the warmth of Molly’s skin radiating out between them, can faintly feel Molly’s leg pressing against his own beneath the layer of the duvet, and it throws him off balance for a moment. When he turns his head, Molly is only a foot or so away from him.

Caleb swallows and looks away. This isn’t the time for- for whatever this is. His priority is Molly, and making sure that Molly is okay. He just doesn’t know how to do that.

For a couple of minutes, neither of them speak. The silence is surprisingly not awkward, despite the soft sobs that still force their way out of Molly’s chest. They slow gradually, dying down to the occasional sniffle, and after what Caleb feels is roughly twenty minutes, Molly gives a sigh, and sits back against the headboard.

Caleb drums his fingers against his leg. “Do you want to talk about… about this?” he asks. His voice is quiet, soft and a little bit awkward in the darkness, but Molly doesn’t seem to mind. He gives a small shrug, sighing quietly.

“Maybe?” he says. “I’m just… I don’t want to keep you up, Caleb.”

“I couldn’t sleep anyway,” Caleb says. “Do not worry about it.” He pauses, and then adds, “I would like to make sure that you are alright, Mollymauk. I am… I am not particularly good at this, but I would like to try. And I have heard that talking about feelings can help sometimes. So, if you would like to do that, I am an open ear.”

There’s a pause.

“I miss my friends,” Molly confesses quietly. “I haven’t- I’ve been away from home before, of course, but this is… I don’t…” he shrugs, hugging his knees against his chest and wrapping his tail around them as if seeking out what comfort he can. “I miss them,” he says again, quieter. “And I don’t know when I’m going home, and I don’t know this place, and I don’t _belong_ here, and I really, really miss my friends, Caleb. I miss my home.”

“Oh,” Caleb says softly. “Oh, Mollymauk… I’m sorry.”

“’S alright,” Molly says. He sniffles a little, turning his head to wipe his eyes against his shoulder. Caleb recognises the shirt he’s wearing – it’s one of his own, gifted by him to Molly when they’d got back from the shopping trip and promptly realised that they’d forgotten to get Molly pyjamas. It’s a little bit small on Molly’s taller frame, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Even later, when Caleb had offered to go back into town and get Molly actual pyjamas, Molly had declined, and so Caleb’s old t-shirt had become Molly’s new pyjama top.

Molly sniffles again.

“You don’t need to apologise, Caleb,” he says. His voice is soft, a little stilted and a little choked up with tears, and Caleb feels his entire heart twist. “It’s not your-”

“Don’t say this isn’t my fault,” Caleb interrupts. “This is entirely my fault, Mollymauk. If I had been more careful with my ritual then you would not be here, and we would not be in this predicament. It is my fault that you are here, and it is my fault that you are not home.” _It is my fault that you are homesick_. “So do not say that this is not my fault, because it is.”

Molly smiles weakly. “Alright,” he says, the word almost inaudible. “I- okay then. I’m still sorry if I woke you up.”

“You didn’t. I was awake anyway.”

“Oh.” Caleb doesn’t see Molly nod but he can hear it when his horns gently scrape against the headboard. It’s the only sound for a while as they both lapse back into silence, neither of them seemingly sure of what to say.

One of them has to speak eventually, though, and so, after a while, Caleb does.

“Tell me about them?” he asks quietly. He turns his head, seeking out Molly’s face in the darkness. In what streetlight filters through from the outside his purple skin is turned dusky, like the first touch of night against the sky. It paints his skin with amber the same shade as Caleb’s own magic, caressing the lines of ink that chase along his face and down the line of his throat.

Caleb wants to caress them too, he realises. He wants to reach out and touch Molly; he wants to take Molly’s hand in his own, wants to trace the lines of the peacock feathers, wants to wrap an arm around Molly’s shoulders and remind him that he is not alone. That he has friends here. That he will, one day, see his friends again.

He wants Molly to be happy. He wants Molly to be alright.

He wants to help Molly however he can.

_Oh_ , he thinks to himself. He recognises this feeling in his chest, and after a moment’s thought he pushes it back down. _Not for me_ , he tells himself, _not this_. Not this, not now. Not when Molly is, in simple terms, his prisoner. Not when Molly relies on him for everything. That’s not right. That’s not good.

Molly will be going home one day, and that will be the end of that. Until then, Caleb can keep himself distanced. He can comfort Molly, and stay close by him for a while, and keep his feelings at a distance. Even if they weren’t in this situation, he can’t imagine Molly liking him back.

_Not for me_ , he tells himself again, and does his best to muster a smile at Molly’s confused look.

“Your friends,” he repeats. “Would you tell me about them?”

Molly frowns. “You’d- why?”

“Because they are your friends,” Caleb says, shrugging a little. “They matter to you, Mollymauk. And as I know from experience, when you are sad or upset it can help to talk about the thing that you are sad or upset about. It sounds counterintuitive, but it seems to work. If you would like to tell me about your friends and your home, I would like to hear.” He smiles again, looking away. “You are… you are a very interesting individual. And I like listening to you talk.”

“You do?”

“ _Ja_ , I do. You have a nice voice, and you always say interesting things, and I like to learn. You know a lot about the Nine Hells. It is very nice talking to you.”

Somehow, in the darkness of the room, the words don’t feel so open. Caleb knows that he is normally terrible at compliments, or at openness, but somehow, right now, it feels alright. Amongst the shadows of the room, the words don’t feel quite so real, for all that the bubble of Molly’s bedroom feels like the only thing that exists right now. Caleb can say them freely and openly, and even remembering that the darkness hides nothing from Molly doesn’t concern him. This is okay. This is alright.

In the dim streetlight, Caleb sees Molly smile a little. “Well, thank you, Mr Caleb,” he says, and Caleb smiles a little wider. “I can… sure, I can do that. What do you want to know about?”

“Anything. Your best friends. You have already met my best friends – tell me about your own.”

“I can do that,” Molly says quietly. “That’s- yeah, sure.” He shifts a little, leaning back against the headboard and stretching his legs out beneath the duvet. “Well, my best friend is Yasha. She’s- if I’m honest, she’s not at all like me.”

“No?” Caleb asks, hearing the slight awkwardness in Molly’s voice and doing his best to smooth over it. “How so?”

“Well for starters, she’s absolutely _massive_. Just… this huge, tall, white-skinned lady. Must be, oh, a foot taller than me?” Molly smiles a little more, tilting his head back as the words start to flow more easily. “She’s wonderful, though. She’s my best friend in the whole world; I absolutely adore her.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s- you know what an Aasimar demon looks like, right?”

“ _Ja_.” He’s encountered them himself, once or twice.

Molly’s smile widens. “Great! Well, she’s one of those. Odd-coloured eyes, lots of dark hair, more muscles than I could ever dream of having, but she’s an absolute sweetheart, Caleb. She’s so lovely. She’s quite soft-spoken a lot of the time, and she and Cad have a little garden that they’re growing together. She’s got a whole book of pressed flowers that she keeps on adding to – whenever I go to the other levels I see if I can find her a flower that she doesn’t have yet so that I can surprise her with it. One time,” he starts, his voice breaking on a soft laugh, “one time, Caduceus and Yasha and Cali and the Pumats were over, and we-”

“Who’re they?” Caleb asks quietly, cutting Molly off.

“Hm?”

“Pumat and Cali. You haven’t said their names before.”

“The Pumats,” Molly corrects absently, turning to look at Caleb. “I haven’t mentioned them?”

“You have only mentioned Caduceus, back when I first summoned you.”

“Oh. Well. They’re all great, too. Not Yasha-levels of great, but they’re very good.”

“Tell me about them? You said that Caduceus was a gardener, _ja_?”

“Yeah!” Molly exclaims, seeming surprised at how well Caleb remembered the conversation. It’s been about a month since that first time that Molly mentioned Caduceus, but even now Caleb can remember the name. After all, when he sends Molly back he will still need a gardening demon, and Caduceus comes highly recommended. “Yeah, that’s him! He gets summoned a lot, apparently, but he doesn’t mind. He’s a lovely fellow though; Firbolg, even taller than Yasha is, if you can believe that, pink hair and grey fur. Honestly, he’s one of the most colourful demons I know.”

“Surely he cannot be as colourful as you,” Caleb says, unable to stop himself, and Molly gives a damp laugh.

“No,” he admits, “no, he isn’t. He tries – he likes to grow pink and green lichen on his fur and clothing – but he could never hope to surpass me. Even the Pumats agree on that, and there’s five of them.”

Caleb frowns. “Are they a- are they a family?”

“Nah,” Molly replies, shaking his head. “They’re just the Pumats.”

“…You’re going to have to explain.”

“Well, you know how some people are multiple people? They’re all the same, but there’s several of them?”

“Like twins?”

Molly laughs again. The sound of it hangs like crystal amongst the shadows of the room. “No, no. When they’re all the same person. You know how it is.”

“I really don’t.”

“You _don’t_?” Molly turns to look at him then, his horns scraping quietly against the headboard. This close to, Caleb can see the streetlight shining amber off the ruby of his eyes, lighting them up and making them glow. It’s strangely mesmerising. “You don’t have that here?”

Caleb shrugs. “I mean, we have twins, and triplets, and things like that, but we don’t have multiple physical people who are all the same person. Even if I were to have a twin, they would be themself and I would be me. Even if we were born identical, we would be very, very different now.” For starters, they’d be different genders.

“Oh,” Molly says. “Huh. That’s so _weird_. We also have twins in the Hells, but the Pumats are… they’re the _Pumats_. There’s five of them, but one is the Prime, and they’re all the same person. They’re separate, and independent, but they’re all the same person.”

If Caleb’s honest, it sounds absolutely fascinating. He would love to sit and listen and learn more, but he knows that he wouldn’t be able to follow all of it this late at night. The Pumats are a conversation that will, sadly, have to wait for another time. “What about Cali?” he asks, drawing the name of another of Molly’s friends back to the front of his mind. “Tell me about her.”

Molly visibly perks up. “Ah, Cali! She’s lovely. Her name is Calianna, actually – Cali’s just a nickname – and she’s a- a half dragon, or something like that. I don’t know. She’s a riot though, an absolute delight to spend time with. We have a lot of fun doing sewing projects and stuff together. You’d think that a place like the Nine Hells would have clothing designed to accommodate mismatched limbs, and it does, but Gods, Caleb, it’s all absolutely _hideous_.”

Caleb laughs a little. He turns, resting his shoulder against the headboard as he continues to watch Molly in the darkness. He’s brightening up a little now, the sniffles and tears coming slower and spaced further apart as he talks more about his friends, and it’s a delight to see. It’s the same sort of look that he gets occasionally when Frumpkin deigns to sit on his lap and start purring, or when Jester is telling him something particularly incredible about the material plane, or when he listens to Caleb ramble on and on about magic. It’s a good look on him. Caleb wants to see it more.

“Yeah?” he asks. “More hideous than your jacket?”

“Would you stop insulting my jacket?” Molly replies, but there’s no venom to his words. “It’s a lovely jacket, thank you very much. And the stuff Cali finds sometimes – honestly, Caleb, it looks like they looted it off an ooze and then tried to sell it. No shape or form to speak of, so clearly we have to fix that. And the colours, _Gods_. They look like beholder bile.”

“Mm?” Caleb turns a little, getting comfy as Molly continues to talk, now starting to move his hands to add emphasis to his words. He can feel himself smiling, small and soft, and hopes that the darkness of the room is enough to hide it. He likes this. He likes this a lot. “You will have to tell me what that looks like, Mollymauk.”

“Ooh, you don’t want me to. Trust me.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

“How much worse?”

“ _Infinitely_. Imagine the most disgusting thing you’ve ever seen, and then somehow make it even worse, and that’s still not half as bad as the stuff we would find.”

“Ah,” Caleb says, nodding slowly. “So beholder bile looks like your jacket.”

There’s a pause, and then Molly lets out a true laugh, so loud and sudden that Caleb actually jumps a little. Molly shakes his head, nudging his shoulder against Caleb’s before letting it rest there, a warm weight pressing against Caleb’s body. “Would you stop tearing into my jacket? You bought it!”

“I can regret things that I’ve done,” Caleb replies. He knows that his own smile must be as wide as Molly’s now, and he can do nothing to stop it. He doesn’t want to. “But if I’m honest, Mollymauk, I do not regret the purchase that much.”

“Your endless insulting of it certainly says otherwise, darling.”

Caleb ignores the shiver in his bones at the sound of _darling_ on Molly’s tongue. “ _Ja_ , well, it _is_ hideous, but it also seems to make you happy. And I promised that I would do my best to keep you happy while you are here, Mollymauk.”

For a moment, Molly’s smile turns from soft to serious. “You have,” he says, his voice quieter than it was before. “I know you’ve been trying, Caleb. Thank you for that.”

Caleb looks away, giving a small shrug. “It is just the right thing to do,” he murmurs.

“But you still did it.”

Caleb doesn’t have a response for that. He doesn’t know what to say. He just knows that he saw Molly arrive and promptly decided that it was going to be his responsibility to keep this flamboyant, purple demon entertained and content until he could send him back home. It just made sense to him. “Well,” he mutters, “well, maybe.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, tell me more about your fabric problems.”

“Oh, yes, that! Well, recently we’ve been trying our hand at making our own clothes for Cali. Sometimes,” Molly continues, “Yasha will show up with old fabric, and we’ll make clothes for Cali out of it, or clothes for me, and one time we tried to make Yasha a dress, but she was too buff for it, so we ended up giving it to Caduceus instead.”

Caleb smiles. It’s so nice, hearing Molly talk about his friends. He so rarely sounds this excited and interested; he talks a lot, yes, but not like this. Not with this much enthusiasm. Caleb wishes that he could do something, _anything_ , to get Molly to be like this again. He knows that he’s still a while from being able to send Molly home, but that’s not the only option available to him. It can’t be. There has to be something else that he can do.

And then, quite suddenly, Caleb gets an idea.

“What did you say her name was again?” he asks, hoping that Molly has forgotten his perfect memory. “Your best friend.”

It seems like he has. “Yasha,” he says, “Yasha Nydoorin. She’s not the best with a needle, or at delicate stuff in general, but she tries so hard. She’s got a good eye for patterns too, and a better eye for getting me out of trouble. And… and…” Molly trails off suddenly, all enthusiasm abruptly leaving his body as he falls silent. He looks down in his lap, trailing his claws over the fabric of the duvet cover and, after a couple of minutes silence, Caleb sees tears gathering once more along Molly’s lashes. “And I miss her,” he continues eventually. “I miss all of them. I miss seeing them. I miss hanging out with them. I just… I miss them, Caleb. I really, really do.”

Caleb swallows, feeling his own throat tightening with tears. It hurts to see Molly like this. It hurts to see the joy and delight drain away so fast. “I know,” he says, his voice just as quiet. “I- I am doing what I can, Mollymauk. I promise I will get you home. And then you will be able to make clothes with your friends again as much as you like.”

“Sewing and gossiping nights,” Molly mumbles to himself. “There always ends up being some petty bickering, but it’s always good fun. Cali never partakes - she’s much too sweet for that - and Cad’s normally too quiet and polite, but Yasha and the Pumats and I can bicker to the low hells. And,” he continues, laughing damply, “and I always like to tease her because she’s only got two eyes, and Cad’s got four, and so’s Cali, and I’ve got six, and even the Pumats share, like, twenty of them or something between them. But Yasha’s only got two eyes. She’s extremely tall, and extremely strong, but she’s only got two eyes! And no tail!”

Caleb frowns a little. As far as he’s been able to tell so far, _Molly_ only has two eyes. Sure, he’d made a comment when they went shopping about how Caleb’s species ‘only have one pair of eyes’, but he hadn’t elaborated on it, and Caleb has never seen him with any more than two eyes. “She has… how many eyes do you have, Mollymauk?”

“Six,” Molly answers, as if the answer should be obvious. “I’m a Tiefling demon, Caleb, come on. We all have six eyes, and we all have tails, and most of us have horns. Not all of us have split tails, though.” He turns to look at Caleb, smiling past the tears that still linger on his lashes. “I’m just special like that.”

Caleb can’t help it – he smiles back a little, his lips twitching at the tone of Molly’s voice. “ _Ja_ , well, I cannot argue with that. You are definitely a very unique individual, Mollymauk. I did not know that you have six eyes, though.”

Molly blinks. “Oh,” he says, “oh. I- alright. I thought you’d seen.”

Caleb shakes his head. “ _Nein_ , I have not. You have always had two eyes every time I see you.”

“Really?”

“ _Ja_.”

“Wow,” Molly mutters, “I must be better at remembering to keep them hidden than I thought I was.”

“Can I see them?” Caleb asks. “Your eyes?”

There’s a pause.

“…Are you sure you want to?” Molly asks eventually. There’s a rustle of blankets as Molly turns in place, twisting to better look at Caleb. “Apparently humans can get freaked out by demon eyes.”

“I’ve seen demon eyes before, Mollymauk.”

Molly falls silent for a moment, chewing at his lip. He looks like he’s thinking, turning some thought over in his head, but Caleb cannot hope to discern it.

“You haven’t-“ Molly starts quietly, and then he cuts himself off. “You haven’t- this is- I…” He sighs, reaching up a hand to scrub at his eyes. “This is different,” he mutters to himself, so quietly that Caleb feels like he shouldn’t have heard it. Caleb frowns a little. How could it be different? He has seen demon eyes before, plenty of times, and he’s never been particularly freaked out. He’s been uncomfortable, yes, because it’s hard to know where to look when a demon doesn’t so much have eyes as gaping voids where eyes should be, but never freaked out. Never afraid.

“Molly,” he says quietly. “You don’t- you do not have to show me them, if you do not want to.”

“I want to,” Molly says quietly. He still seems to be struggling with something, his mouth occasionally opening and closing. “I- I’m fine with it. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“What are you worried about?”

There’s no answer. Molly sighs softly, twisting the duvet cover beneath his fingers. He looks down, shutting his eyes, and, in the stillness, Caleb hears Molly’s breathing pause.

There’s a moment of hesitation, like winter-cold breath hanging in the air. And then Molly opens his eyes, and this time there are six of them.

They run down his cheeks in rows, three pairs of faintly glowing ruby-red eyes staring right back at Caleb, every one of them piercing in the darkness. There’s no makeup on any of them, nothing to make them stand out beyond the simple nature of their being, but in a flash Caleb remembers the lines of gold that had patterned Molly’s cheeks when he had first arrived, and he abruptly understands. He can remember what the gold had looked like painted onto Molly’s visible eyes. He can imagine what it would look like on all of them.

He imagines that it would look beautiful.

There is something unsettling about Molly’s eyes, but it’s a tiny part of what Caleb is feeling. They’re unsettling the same way that his horns are unsettling, that his tail is unsettling – they do not exist within Caleb’s world but they are here all the same, risking void-spaces and nudging at the boundaries between planes. Every indication of their otherness and wrongness should be off-putting to Caleb, and he knows it. He knows that he shouldn’t like Molly’s tail, but he does. He knows that he shouldn’t like Molly’s horns, but he does. He feels like he should be flinching, recoiling, shying away from something so blatantly _other_. Humans, he knows, are not designed to walk amongst demons. They are not designed to exist around them. Even now he can feel his magic shifting and twisting in response to Molly’s proximity – not in a bad way, or in a painful way, but simply in a way that’s alerting Caleb of his presence, informing him of _other_ magic so close by. His magic doesn’t mind Molly, and neither does he. He doesn’t mind Molly at all - far from it, in fact - but he feels, right now, like he should be disgusted.

But that’s not what he feels at all.

“Oh,” Caleb says softly. He can’t make himself look away. He doesn’t want to look away. “Oh, Molly…”

Molly gives a small, humourless laugh. “I know,” he says, “I know, they- they’re weird to you humans because you all have white bits, but they-”

“They’re lovely.”

Molly falls silent. He looks up at Caleb and then looks away, frowning a little and twitching his ears like he’s not entirely sure what he heard.

Like he’s not entirely sure that he believes it, because he doesn’t. Because Caleb is human, and he is not, and from what he’s gathered and overheard back home, humans don’t like things that are different from them. They don’t like demons, and they especially don’t like demons with tails, or with too many eyes, or with limbs in places unusual to them.

Caleb shouldn’t like him like this. Caleb shouldn’t like all of his eyes.

And yet, part of Molly desperately, desperately wants him to.

“Mollymauk,” Caleb says softly. His voice is quiet in the night-shadowed room, hanging like thistledown in the air between them, but it’s honest. It’s genuine. Molly knows that Caleb’s eyes cannot possibly make out every detail of his face, weak and human as his eyesight is, but in the faint amber light of the streetlamps outside he knows that Caleb can see the eyes running down his cheeks. He knows that Caleb can see _him_. “Molly,” Caleb says again, shuffling closer on the bed. “They’re beautiful.”

Molly feels the sob coming, and he just about manages to catch it in his chest. His lips twitch up in a weak facsimile of a smile, tears gathering along all six sets of lower lashes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Caleb echoes back. He smiles slightly at Molly, barely more than a raising at one corner of his mouth, but it’s enough. It’s acceptance. “I am being honest here, Mollymauk – your eyes are very lovely. All of them.”

Molly feels his smile growing a little. He lifts a hand, thumbing at the drying tear tracks on his cheeks, and when he looks back at Caleb it’s to see Caleb looking at him with an expression that he can’t quite decipher. Whatever it is, it’s gentle. Molly thinks he’d like to see it some more. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I- thanks, Caleb.”

Caleb shrugs. “It is just the truth,” he says, but there’s something else underlying his words. His tone is soft, softer than Molly thinks he’s ever heard – the closest he’s heard to this is the fond tone in that Caleb’s voice sometimes has when he’s talking to Nott, or Beau, or Jester, but this is different. It’s comforting, settling around Molly’s shoulders like a cloak.

Like an embrace.

“If you would like,” Caleb continues quietly, “you are more than welcome to have all six open around the house, Mollymauk. You know that I do not want for you to be uncomfortable.”

Molly glances down, smiling to himself. “I know,” he replies. “I did actually think about it, but I decided that I’d rather not freak you out any more than I’m sure I already do. I know I don’t fit in, Caleb – I’m not meant to be here, and I didn’t want to make it any harder for you than I had to. I wasn’t going to glamour all the time, though; I don’t have the patience or energy for that.”

From beside him, he hears a soft laugh. “I was never expecting you to,” Caleb says. “Really – when I said that I wanted you to be comfortable, I meant it.” There’s a moment of hesitation, just for a second. “Besides,” Caleb continues, “I much prefer seeing you as you are.”

…Oh.

That’s… it’s… Molly doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know how to handle that. He’s very, very certain that Caleb doesn’t feel about him the same way he feels about Caleb, like he’s only just holding himself back from developing the most ridiculous, extravagant crush on this plane or any other, but all the same, there’s something to those words. He knows there is.

He just doesn’t know what the ‘something’ _is_.

He pushes the thought aside. He can mull on Caleb’s meaning and deep, hidden feelings later. For now, there are other things to think about, and other things to talk about.

“Really?” he asks quietly, glancing over at Caleb. The witch is still smiling, the expression small and almost shy, but it’s no less gorgeous for that.

“Really,” Caleb replies. “You are… I like you like this, Mollymauk. Your glamour was very attr- impressive, but this is… this is more _you_. It feels more like you, like that ghastly jacket of yours.”

“You bought me that jacket,” Molly reminds him.

Caleb rolls his eyes, shaking his head a little. “And Gods only know why I did,” he mutters, but he’s still smiling. “But it suits you, Molly. The jacket suits you, and it is… when you are ‘you,’ entirely ‘you,’ you seem happier. I would never want to take that away from you. I would never want for you to feel anything less than entirely comfortable in your own skin, or to feel anything less than entirely comfortable here. If that means having all six of your eyes open, then do it. I like them, and I’m sure Nott and Beau will like them too, and none of us will mind. Not in the slightest.”

“…You think?” He wants to believe Caleb. He really does.

Caleb smiles. “I know,” he says quietly.

“You do know a lot.”

“Oh, I am not so sure about that,” Caleb says, “but I do know my friends, and I know myself. I know that Beau and Nott will not care at all, and I know that-” he cuts himself off, taking a breath. Through the darkness, Molly can see his cheeks flushing a little bit. “I know that I definitely will not mind, Mollymauk. I can assure you of that. Your eyes are beautiful; I certainly would not mind seeing them around more often.”

Oh. Well.

Molly can feel his ears growing warm and reminds himself that, thankfully, humans do not have darkvision.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, at a loss for anything else to say. Caleb shrugs, the motion of it brushing their shoulders together.

“Of course,” he replies, just as softly as Molly, and then they both lapse into a soft, comfortable silence. From beside him, Molly can hear Caleb breathing softly, and he catches himself matching his own breathing to it after a while, inhaling and exhaling in time with Caleb. It’s a simple thing, but it feels nice, grounding him a little more.

Molly doesn’t know how much time passes as they sit like this, side by side on the bed with their shoulders pressed together. He can still feel the aftermath of his crying clinging to his throat and eyes, making him occasionally lift a hand to brush away lingering tears, but he doesn’t feel so sad anymore. He still misses his friends, and his home, but the companionship that he longed for, the comfort that he had only ever found around Yasha, and Cali, and Caduceus, and the Pumats… he doesn’t miss that anymore. With Caleb by his side, he doesn’t feel lonely. He doesn’t feel lost.

He doesn’t let himself dwell too much on why that is.

_Don’t smell the shirt of the witch who summoned you_ , he reminds himself again. When he breathes in, he can taste Caleb’s magic on the back of his throat.

“…Would you like to look at the stars?” Caleb asks after a while. Molly blinks in the darkness, turning his head towards Caleb. Caleb isn’t looking at him, instead staring straight ahead at the opposite wall as one hand traces absent patterns on his trousers. He looks almost nervous, his magic shifting and twisting beneath his skin in small, uncertain patterns, but Molly recognises the tone in his voice; he’s uncertain, yes, but he’s honest. He means the question that he’s asking.

Molly just doesn’t know why he’s asking.

“What do you mean?” he asks, tilting his head a little.

Caleb shrugs. “I can’t sleep,” he says simply. “It doesn’t seem like you can sleep. Talking about your friends now will likely just make you sad again, and I- I would not like for you to be sad, Mollymauk. And I don’t think you have stars in the Nine Hells-”

“We don’t.”

“-so maybe I could show you our ones.” Caleb turns his head, human-blind eyes somehow meeting Molly’s in the darkness. “They’re very pretty,” he says simply, smiling a little. “And I know that you like pretty things, so perhaps you will like these too. I could teach you about them.”

For a long moment, Molly says nothing. Caleb doesn’t look away from him, sitting patiently in the silence as he lets Molly work through whatever’s going on in his head. He understands loss. He understands homesickness. Perhaps not in this way, and definitely not in these circumstances, but he can, at least a little bit, put himself in Molly’s shoes.

After a while, Molly finally speaks.

“Caleb,” he says. “I-” He sniffles, cutting off his words, and lifts a hand to brush the lingering tears away from his eyes. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” Caleb asks softly.

“Yeah.”

Caleb smiles a little wider. He reaches out across the non-existent space between them, holding a hand out to Molly. “Come on,” he says, “I’ll show you all my favourite constellations.”

Molly smiles, takes Caleb’s hand, and squeezes.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The three pieces in the middle of this chapter were done by [kawaii-rookie](http://kawaii-rookie.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, and the art of Molly at the end of the chapter was done by [nplupo](https://nblupo.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on February 25th!


	9. Chapter 9

The night air is cool when they step out into it, Caleb still leading Molly by the hand, but it isn’t chilly. There’s no nip to it like there might be in autumn or winter, no bite in the breeze, and Caleb is quietly grateful. He’d considered dropping by his room to collect a cardigan on the way out of the house, but ultimately hadn’t. It hadn’t felt worth it. He was warm enough inside without one, comfortable in his t-shirt and flannel and jeans, and he knows from experience that the sweatpants and t-shirt that Molly is clad in should be enough to keep him warm.

Besides, he hadn’t wanted to let go of Molly’s hand.

They creep through the house quietly, Caleb leading Molly with the confidence that comes from knowing the layout of the rooms as well as he knows his own name. Molly doesn’t stumble once as he follows Caleb along the hallway, and down the stairs, and through the living room to the backdoor, stepping carefully around and over Beau’s hastily discarded shoes and Nott’s abandoned jacket where they lay on the floor by one of the couches. Caleb doesn’t let go of Molly’s hand, still holding it gently as he reaches out to unlatch the sliding door with a flick of his magic. He knows that he doesn’t have to latch the door each night, not with the wards that encompass the entire house and garden, but it’s habit. It’s been habit for years, and he sees no reason to break it now.

He waves a hand, hearing the soft _shhhh_ as his magic catches in the mechanism and the door slides open on its rollers.

“Show off,” he hears Molly murmur from next to him. He can’t suppress his small smile. After all, Molly isn’t wrong – Caleb’s not blind, and he’s noticed how much Molly seems to like watching him use his magic. Hells, Molly had outright _told him_ how much he likes watching him work, and Caleb won’t lie: it’s nice to know. He likes watching Molly’s mouth drop open into a round ‘o’ of surprise when he does something particularly impressive. He likes how Molly seems absolutely fascinated and enthralled by his magic, avidly watching even the tiniest motion of it.

He’s noticed how, occasionally, Molly’s breath will catch when he unthinkingly holds out a hand and calls an item to him. He’d thought at first that it was due to surprise, but after seeing Molly’s eyes dart to the item in question a moment before Caleb called it over, he’s no longer sure. Either way, though, one thing is clear: Molly likes Caleb’s magic. He likes Caleb’s magic a lot, and the reminder makes something warm curl through his chest, a mingling of pride, and happiness, and something else that Caleb can’t pin down. He doesn’t try to, though. He doesn’t need to. He just tugs on the door with his magic until it’s wide open and turns to Molly with a shrug.

“It was practical,” he says, neglecting to mention how it was only necessary because his dominant hand was still tangled with Molly’s.

“It was showing off,” Molly replies.

Caleb gives a small huff of laughter, still smiling as he leads them both out into the garden. “It was showing off,” he admits. “If you object so strongly, though, I will be more than happy to open the door with my hand next time.”

“Oh!” Molly exclaims quickly, as Caleb was half-expecting him to. “Oh, no, no, please don’t stop using magic on my behalf, love. Really.”

Caleb smiles a little. “I suppose I can use my magic a little bit more, if it means that much to you.”

“It does.”

He doesn’t have a response for that – he just gives Molly’s hand a quick, absent-minded squeeze, and continues to lead him into the garden. They are far enough out from the heart of the city that the light pollution, while still present, isn’t as bad as it could be – the sky is tinged orange around the edges, the stars somewhat softened overheard, but they’re still visible. They still glimmer softly in the velvet night, watching from above as Caleb leads Molly out and across the patio, onto the grassy yard at the back of the house. The grass is cool beneath his feet, the blades brushing softly against his skin, but it’s not cold. The midnight dew has not settled yet, thankfully. The ground beneath their feet is still soft and dry.

Caleb leads them to the end of the garden, picking a patch of grass where their view of the sky will be unobstructed by the spreading branches of the oak, and tugs gently on Molly’s hand.

“Lie down,” he says quietly. “It’s the best way to look at the stars.”

Molly looks doubtfully at the grass. “Are you sure…?”

“Yes,” Caleb says. Molly looks up, catching his eye, and Caleb smiles. “Trust me,” he says quietly, and only then letting go of Molly’s hand, he lowers himself onto the soft grass, sitting in a cross-legged position. He reaches out, patting the space beside him. “Come on. It might be a bit chilly, but I’ll do what I can to keep us both warm.”

Even in the darkness of the night, Caleb thinks he sees Molly’s cheeks turn darker as he makes a small, strangled sound. “Will you now?”

“ _Ja_ , of course.” Caleb twists his hand, calling fire to his palm, and smiles at Molly. In his rows of eyes, the flickering firelight shines back in a thousand shades of ruby and red. “I have magic, Mollymauk, as you are very clearly aware.”

“Oh,” Molly says quietly. “I- yeah, I knew that. That’s what I meant.” He shifts a little in place, bare feet moving quietly over the grass, and after a short moment he joins Caleb on the grass, sitting down beside him. Caleb keeps the fire burning for a few moments later, watching Molly as Molly watches the flames, but once a few seconds have passed he curls his hand into a fist and snuffs the fire out.

“It will ruin your night vision,” he says quietly by way of explanation. “If you look at something so bright for too long, you will only see shadows when you look away.”

“Ah,” Molly says, pulling a slight face. “Well. I ruined that a bit, didn’t I?”

Caleb waves a hand. “Just be patient,” he says. “Your night vision will come back.” He knows that his own is already returning. He looks into a patch of shadow beneath the oak tree, watching as the darkness slowly splits into a thousand shades of grey and silver. He’s stargazed before on nights where he can’t sleep for stress, or for nightmares, or for any one of countless other reasons, and he knows the tricks to it. He knows to walk through the house in the dark, letting his eyes adjust in the familiar environment. He knows where the grass in the garden lies thickest, providing the best place to rest. He knows all of this, and tonight he has shown it to Molly too. Tonight, he has let Molly join him.

They sit in silence for a few minutes longer, the only sounds being that of their breathing and the occasional gentle swish of Molly’s tail over the grass. They’re familiar sounds to Caleb now, all of them. He’s become almost accustomed to the sight of Molly’s tail flickering by his feet or swaying behind him as he talks, and hearing it now, in the darkness of the night, is no more disconcerting than it is to hear Nott’s nails tapping against the surface of the table. It’s just a sound, and a familiar one, and it is, in its own strange way, a comforting thing to hear.

Eventually, Caleb decides that his night vision is as good as it’s going to get. He shifts a little on the grass, getting comfy, and then looks over at Molly, catching his attention. “Do you know of the constellations?” he asks quietly. Molly gives an awkward shrug.

“Not really,” he admits. “We don’t have stars, which means no constellations. I know what the word means, though. Caduceus sometimes talks about them. It’s something about people seeing pictures in the sky, right?”

“Something like that,” Caleb says. He gives a small smile, leaning back on his arms as he looks up at the sky overhead. “None of the stars truly mean anything at all, of course, but we humans are a creative bunch. We like to give things stories. And so we looked at the stars, and we drew lines between them, and some people thought that those lines looked like people, or like animals, or like special symbols, and so they gave the lines and the stars stories. Myths and legends and the like, you know? Of course, in reality most of the stars that they grouped together are millions of miles away, but at the time, the people giving them stories didn’t know that. They thought we were the centre of the universe…”

Caleb continues to stare up at the sky, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips, and Molly feels his breath catch in his chest. Caleb looks so peaceful, the lines of stress and worry that so normally adorn his face wiped clean beneath the light of the stars. After a few more moments of silence Caleb gradually lowers himself down, stretching his legs out as he lies down flat amongst the grass, his flannel falling loose around his sides.

He glances over at Molly. “Come on,” he says quietly, “lie down.”

Molly cannot say no to that.

He cautiously lowers himself, feeling the grass tickle against the exposed skin of his arms. As Caleb promised it isn’t cold, but it is a little chillier than he would like, and he’s briefly glad for the thick, warm fabric of the sweatpants that he wears as pyjama pants. He tucks his tail under his leg, trapping it between the sweatpants and the ground, and carefully drops his head down until it, too, is cushioned by the grass.

Above his head, the expanse of the universe lies painted in silver.

“Are you comfortable?” he hears Caleb murmur softly from beside him, and he nods in response, his horns making soft _shush-shush_ sounds in the grass.

“Yeah,” he says back, his voice little more than a whisper. The stars are so still overhead, so quiet and peaceful and impassive. There is no sound out here beyond the quiet murmuring of the oak branches, whispering quietly in the night air. They _shush-shush_ too with every other breath, catching what little outside sound filters in to the garden and holding it between their leaves, leaving Molly and Caleb alone in a small, soundless bubble. It’s just them, lying side by side, still and silent in the grass. This close, Molly can hear Caleb’s breath with every inhale and exhale. It feels like the only sound around.

He swallows.

“Yeah,” he says again, impossibly quieter. “Yeah, I’m- I’m comfy, Caleb.”

“You’re not cold?”

“I’m not cold.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to be cold, Mollymauk.”

Molly shuts his eyes, just for a moment. When he opens them again the stars are the first and only thing to greet his gaze. He cannot see the fence that borders the garden like this. He cannot see the oak. He cannot even see Caleb, not without turning his head; all he can see are the stars stretching out before him as he hangs from the underside of the world.

He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what. He wants to somehow thank Caleb for being… for being _Caleb_ , above all else. For being sweet, and kind, and thoughtful even when he doesn’t have to be. He wants to. But he knows that he can’t.

“You said- you said you were going to teach me the constellations, right?” he says. His voice is a tiny bit unstable, but it’s barely noticeable even to his ears. He can’t imagine that Caleb could hear it.

“ _Ja_ , that’s right. Do you want to start now?”

“Sure. No time like the present.”

From beside him, he hears Caleb give a small snort of amusement. “Hah, well, no, I suppose not. Especially with stargazing. Now, do you see that line of three stars?” Caleb asks, lifting a hand and pointing at the sky overhead. “Just there, above the trees? With two stars above it and two below it so that it looks a bit like an hourglass?”

Molly squints up at the sky. He sees stars, and lots of them, but not anything like what Caleb is describing. “Where?”

“Just over the trees. Follow where I am pointing.”

“I _am_ following where you’re pointing.” Molly squints harder, desperately searching the sky for any sign of what Caleb is talking about. There’s just so many stars, all of them twinkling faintly and looking as if they’ve been woven through the tapestry of the sky, hung above in a private exhibition for his and Caleb’s eyes only. It feels shockingly intimate, for all that they are staring out into an open void; it feels, in a way, like he and Caleb are the only people around.

After a few more seconds of searching, Molly still can’t spot the stars that Caleb is trying to point out.

“I don’t see them,” he says quietly. “I- there’s a lot of stars up there, Caleb.”

Caleb huffs out a breath. “Here,” he says, and between one moment and the next he reaches down, takes hold of Molly’s hand, and lifts it up.

That’s-

Well. It certainly wasn’t what Molly was expecting.

He swallows as Caleb’s fingers wrap around his own, skin brushing against skin as they settle in place. Unthinkingly he flexes his hand, slotting his own fingers in between Caleb’s, and there’s a tiny moment of hesitation before Caleb’s hand relaxes again, and gives Molly’s a small squeeze.

It’s nice. It’s so nice. Caleb has taken Molly’s hand before, of course, and Molly has taken Caleb’s, but this is… it’s different. Their fingers are entwined now, purple skin against pale, and between their brushing wrists Molly can feel the twine bracelet catching gently on his skin. He can feel the faint, barely-noticeable hum of Caleb’s interwoven magic against his wrist. He can’t feel Caleb’s natural magic, not really, but he wishes that he could. He can only feel the bracelet-magic that envelopes his body like a cloak, and not the wild, raw magic that courses through Caleb’s veins, turning his eyes golden with every spell. He would like to feel it. He would like to feel Caleb’s skin, and Caleb’s warmth, and Caleb’s magic all touching against his skin.

But he knows he will not get that. This, what he has now, is enough. It has to be.

“Look,” Caleb says again. He moves their hands across the sky, tracking from one point to the next. “There, see?”

Molly shifts a little on the grass, the motion bringing him closer to Caleb, and peers along the line of their raised arms. The fabric of Caleb’s flannel brushes against his skin, the sleeve of it caressing the tattoos and scars that wind along his arm, and Molly does his best not to think about it. He does his best not to think about how he wants to move closer still.

He swallows. At the end of their arms, shining softly in the night sky, he sees a small line of three stars. “I see them.”

“And the two above and below, you see them too?”

“Yeah.”

“That constellation is called Orion,” Caleb says. His voice shifts a little, somehow becoming softer. Gentler. “Named after a hero from myth. It is supposed to look like a man firing a bow, but some people think that it looks more like a tea kettle with steam coming out of it.” Molly smiles, giving a small snort of laughter, and Caleb finds himself smiling too. “ _Ja_ , I know, it is silly. All constellations are like that, though. They are just points in the sky. You could make them out to be anything. But I like Orion.” Caleb falls silent for a while, looking up at the stars. “Orion has always been familiar to me,” he says quietly a few moments later. “He was one of the first constellations my Mama taught me when I was younger. I liked the myth behind it, of this mighty hunter who became immortalised amongst the stars, and I liked finding him in the sky whenever we travelled somewhere. I felt that, as long as I could find Orion, we would be alright.” He pauses. “And I still feel like that. It is- Orion is a very reassuring constellation to me, Mollymauk. It is nice for me to know that, wherever I go, Orion will always be there. If I can see him, then things are alright.” His smile turns wry. “I know it is a silly thought to have, but I have it all the same.”

“It’s not silly,” Molly hears himself say before he can stop himself. “It’s not- it’s not silly, Caleb.”

“Is it not?”

“No. Gods, no. I wish I had something like that, actually.”

There’s a short pause. “ _Ja_?” Caleb asks, his voice soft and hesitant. Molly can imagine the look on Caleb’s face, the one of uncertainty and mingled hope. He knows it in his voice.

“Yeah,” he says. “I- yeah. It would- that- it would be really nice for me, actually.”

Caleb makes a small, curious hum. “Mm?”

Molly shrugs. “I don’t- I spent a fair amount of time in this body not really knowing who I was, or where I was, or what I was supposed to be doing,” he says simply. He knows what it sounds like, and he knows how Caleb will interpret it, but tonight, for now, he doesn’t move to correct him. Caleb doesn’t need to know all the strange and uncomfortable details. He just needs to know enough. “It would’ve been rather lovely if I could’ve had a constellation to look at to make me feel like everything was alright.”

“Oh,” Caleb says again.

“Yeah.”

“I- I’m sorry, Mollymauk.”

“’s alright,” Molly replies easily. “It’s quite lovely just hearing you talk about it all, if I’m honest. Please feel free to continue.”

He feels Caleb’s hand squeeze around his own as he replies. It’s a nice feeling. It’s one that Molly thinks he would like to feel again. He’d like to hold Caleb’s hand again, definitely. He’d like to learn what Caleb’s hands feel like on his arms, and on his cheeks, and on his chest. He wants to learn everything about them, and about Caleb himself.

“ _Ja_?” Caleb asks.

“Yeah,” Molly replies automatically. He’s not really thinking, still focused on Caleb’s hand. “Tell me all about the wonders of the universe, Caleb.”

Caleb gives a short huff of amusement. “Well, I will certainly try my best,” he says. He falls silent for a moment, presumably thinking over what to say, and then speaks again. “Do you see that big star?” he asks. He lifts his hand, taking Molly’s with it, and points up overhead towards a large, bright point. It hangs in the sky above them, glowing softly. Molly wants to touch it, but he knows that he can’t.

“I see it,” he says quietly, still distracted by Caleb’s hand around his own. Caleb’s skin is rougher than Molly expected, his fingertips calloused and his palm worn from countless spellscars and tiny burns, and it’s cooler than Molly expected, too. He knows logically that he runs hotter than Caleb does, demonic blood making his veins warmer than those of a human, but it’s strange to actually experience it. Because, despite that, Caleb still feels warm to him. Not hot, no, but warm. Inviting.

Comforting.

Molly swallows, suddenly aware that he’s been looking over at Caleb and not at the sky for a while. He snaps his gaze back up to the stars overhead, refocusing on the star that Caleb had pointed out. It shines overhead, not twinkling like the others all seem to but still shining brightly in the wine-dark sky.

“I see it,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse. “I- yeah.”

“Do you want to know something interesting?”

“Sure.”

“That’s not a star.”

… _What_?

Molly blinks, temporarily distracted from his thoughts about how lovely Caleb’s hand feels around his own. “It- what?”

“It’s not a star,” Caleb repeats, and this time Molly can hear the smile in his voice. He knows what it looks like without having to look – it’s Caleb’s small smile, his delighted one. It’s the same one he gets when he’s come up with something ridiculously clever, or when he’s telling Molly some fascinating little piece of information. Molly doesn’t have to turn his head to know what it looks like.

But, all the same, he does.

He was right. It _is_ Caleb’s tiny, proud smile, but it’s so much better and worse than that. Caleb is still looking at the stars, his eyes bright and his pupils wide in the darkness, and the stars themselves seem captured within them. His hair is splayed out around his head, loose and unhindered by the ponytail that he so often ties it back in, and with all of his eyes open Molly can see how Caleb’s magic loops lazily through his body, lighting him up from the inside and chasing gold along his veins – a perfect contrast to the silver of the stars overhead.

Molly looks back at their conjoined hands. Caleb’s magic is visible here, too, if he knows to look for it. It tangles around his fingers, so close that Molly feels like he could twist his hand and draw that shimmering gold from Caleb’s body into his own, and with its ever-shifting, ever-changing pattern, it is, at times, hard to tell where Caleb ends and he begins. He wants to feel the magic against his skin. He wants to feel _Caleb_ against his skin. He wants to feel Caleb against his skin, and against his lips, pressed up against him and close enough that even the boundary of the bracelet will not keep his magic at bay.

He wants all of Caleb.

He cannot have him.

Molly shuts his eyes for a moment, breathing quietly, and when he opens them again he does his best not to observe Caleb’s magic. It is better to be like this. It is better to understand that, for all that he likes Caleb, it will never be. It is better to have it be a fantasy.

“If it’s not a star,” he says quietly, willing himself to pay attention to the present, “then what is it?”

“A planet.”

“How do you know?”

“It doesn’t twinkle.”

Molly frowns, peering at the star. Except… Caleb had called it a planet. And he’s right; it doesn’t twinkle. “Huh. And that means it’s a planet?”

“Oh, _ja_ ,” Caleb replies.

“What if it’s just a star that’s shy?”

“What?” Caleb asks, sounding utterly confused.

Molly grins. “What if,” he repeats, “it’s just a star that’s shy? It’s being looked at by you, after all. That’d be enough to make anyone flustered.”

There’s a pause, just for a moment, and then Caleb gives the smallest, quietest, most delighted laugh that Molly’s ever heard. “Mollymauk,” he says, shaking his head fondly, “that is- you are- that is ridiculous.”

“It made you laugh, though.”

“It did. It is not even remotely scientifically accurate, but it is very sweet.”

Molly smiles. He can’t help it. “But no, really, why doesn’t it twinkle?”

“Astronomical scintillation,” Caleb replies promptly.

For a long moment, Molly says nothing at all. “Caleb,” he says eventually, “what in the hells does that mean?”

“It is why stars twinkle but planets do not.”

“I got that much, love, but you have to go into more detail than that. We’re not all as smart as you.”

“It has to do with how light travels through the atmosphere,” Caleb clarifies. “When light travels through the atmosphere it gets all bounced around and that makes it seem to brighten or dim, which makes a star look like it is twinkling.”

“I thought planets were outside the atmosphere-”

“Oh, they are. But stars twinkle because they are so far away that they look like pinpricks, which means that all the light comes from a single point. So when the waves are distorted it is much more obvious to us, and it is also makes the waves themselves much more susceptible to interference from the atmosphere. But planets are closer – their apparent sizes are actually usually larger than the air pockets in the atmosphere that would distort their light, which makes their twinkling very hard for us to spot. It’s really very fascinating,” Caleb continues blithely. “I have been considering taking an online physics or astronomy course for some time now. Did you know, for example, that there are some planets that are less dense than water? If it were possible to fit them in a body of water, they would float. But there are also types of star that are so dense and heavy that even a tiny amount would weigh several million tonnes! And that-” he cuts himself off abruptly, letting the space his voice had filled once again turn to silence. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I was… I was rambling again.”

Oh, _Caleb_.

Gods. _Gods_. Molly can’t deal with this. He can’t- he _can’t_ deal with this, with Caleb going from sounding so happy, and so cheerful, and so _excited_ to share knowledge and talk about what he knows to being withdrawn and silent within a handful of seconds. He hates it. He wants to hear Caleb talk, now and forever, if that is what will make him happy.

“Caleb,” he says honestly, “I could listen to you talk about the stars forever.”

He could; it’s not a lie. He loves this, loves hearing Caleb grow so bright and so excited when talking about something that he so clearly adores. Molly’s heard him sound like that a few times before, when he’s been talking about magic, or about void-spaces, or about the evolution of cats and all the things that allow them to always land on their feet, and it’s never been anything less than absolutely, entirely mesmerising. Caleb is so beautiful when he talks about his interests, lit up from within as if his magic is trying to slip through his skin in his excitement. Molly could watch him talk forever. He wants to watch him talk more.

Gods, he wants so many things.

He wants to move closer; he wants to roll onto his side in the grass and press his face to Caleb’s neck, fling an arm around his waist and just hold him. He wants to drown in Caleb’s scent, wants to feel Caleb warm against him. He wants to hold Caleb, and to be held back, and to know that Caleb feels, at least in part, what Molly is so terrified to realise that he feels for him.

Because Molly knows what he feels for Caleb. He knows what this is.

This is a crush, and it’s a much, much stronger one than Molly has ever felt before.

“Caleb,” he says suddenly, swallowing. “I, um, I-”

_I what_?

Molly knows what he wants to say. He knows what he wants to tell Caleb. He knows what he wants to tell Caleb here, now, with the stars twinkling softly overhead and Caleb’s hand still wrapped around his own, his thumb brushing gently over his tendons like he’s forgotten that he’s still holding Molly’s hand. He knows what he wants Caleb to know.

_I like you,_ Molly thinks, and does not say. _I care for you. I like your smile, and I like your face, and I like your boring clothes and your hatred of my jacket. I like your magic. I like how much you care for your friends, and I like how much effort you put into your work. I like your eyes, and your arms, and your hands, and everything about you. I like how hard you are trying to make things right. I like how much you care for me. I want you to care for me even more._

_I like you, Caleb. A lot. Too much._

_ᖨᗇ_ _ᖨ_ _ᚱᚳ_ _'Ѧ_ _ᙪᗄ_ _, Caleb._

_I adore you_.

He wants to say that. He wants to say all of that.

But he can’t.

Molly swallows the words down, tucking them away within his chest, and says nothing at all. A moment later, there’s the soft sound of fabric brushing against grass, and he turns his head to see Caleb looking over at him, raising a curious eyebrow.

“What is it?” Caleb asks, his voice so carefully, heart-breakingly soft. Molly wishes it was harsher. He wishes Caleb didn’t sound like he cared so damn much. If Caleb sounded like, if he _acted_ like he saw Molly as no more than an annoyance then this would be so, so much easier.

But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

Molly cannot tell Caleb what he was thinking – he’s not stupid, and he knows that telling Caleb everything that just flashed through his head would only make this situation impossibly worse. He _likes_ Caleb, considers him a friend and a companion for all that he’s the reason he’s stuck here, and he doesn’t want things to be uncomfortable. He doesn’t want things to be awkward.

So he sighs, and shrugs, and says the first thing that comes to mind. “I’m cold.”

“Oh!” He hates the concern in Caleb’s voice. He hates it. “Oh, _Scheisse_ , I’m sorry, Mollymauk.”

“It’s all right.” It’s also, he realises belatedly, a little bit true. He doesn’t have goosebumps, his lack of natural body hair stopping that from even being an option, but he can feel tiny shivers starting to run through his body. He’s a demon, after all – he’s designed for warmth, for the suffocating heat of the Nine Hells. This faint chilliness, the quiet breeze sighing against his skin… it’s not for him. This world isn’t for him.

Caleb isn’t for him.

Molly hears movement from beside him and a moment later feels Caleb’s hand slip free of his grasp. He sits up a little on his elbows, confused and a little apprehensive, but when he looks over at Caleb it’s to see him shrugging out of his flannel.

Caleb catches his eye. “You can borrow this,” he says simply, freeing one arm from its sleeve. “As I said earlier: I do not want you to be cold, Mollymauk.”

It’s the smallest thing, and it’s too much, and it’s fucking awful. Molly knows that Caleb is just being kind because he has to be. He knows that there is nothing behind any of this. He knows that his feelings are his own, and that Caleb does not, _cannot_ feel the same, and yet.

And yet.

And yet his terrible, traitorous heart is picking up at the sight of Caleb’s arms, and at the expression on Caleb’s face, and at the flannel hanging from his hand.

“Here,” Caleb says, holding out the flannel to him. Molly looks at it and then back at Caleb, sitting up in just his t-shirt and jeans.

“Caleb…”

Caleb shakes the flannel a little bit. “Take it,” he says.

“But then you’ll be cold.”

“I’m used to this. You are not.”

“But you-”

“You are my guest, Mollymauk. And correct me if I am wrong, but I believe that the Nine Hells is significantly warmer than here, _ja_? So,” he shakes the flannel again, “take the flannel, and then you will be warm, and I will be fine, and we will both be comfortable.”

Molly takes the flannel.

His fingers brush against Caleb’s as he does so, the magic of his blood briefly pressing to the magic of the bracelet, and for a second Molly swears that he feels warmth flare where Caleb’s skin brushed against his own. He shivers again, fingers tightening in the soft fabric, and starts shrugging it on before he can convince himself otherwise. The flannel is the same one that Caleb lent him all those weeks ago and it smells just as good as he remembers, fabric and scent alike enclosing him in an intangible hug. The fabric is still warm from Caleb’s body. The warmth settles into Molly’s skin as he shrugs it on, seeking out a home in his body like it’s supposed to be there. Like this is entirely normal, and to be expected.

“Molly?” Caleb asks quietly, as Molly fiddles with the buttons of the flannel, deliberating whether or not to do it up.

“Mm?”

“That wasn’t all, was it?” Caleb asks quietly, and Molly freezes immediately, his hands stilling on the buttons. “When you said you were cold, Mollymauk… there was something else that you were not saying.”

He’s not wrong. He’s definitely not wrong. Even now there’s so much that Molly could say, that he wants to say, but he knows that he can’t. He knows that to say any of it would ruin this strange half-friendship that they have, and so he bites the words back behind his teeth, and gives Caleb a small, weak smile.

“It was nothing,” he says with a sigh, shaking his head slightly. “I was just- y’know, I was thinking of home.” It’s a good excuse, he feels. After all, given their earlier discussion, it’s very, very feasible.

“Oh,” Caleb says softly. Molly wants to hate him for the care and concern in his voice. “I- I am sorry, Mollymauk, I had hoped this would distract you-”

“It did!” Molly butts in quickly. “It- it did, Caleb, really, this has been wonderful. But I-… I can’t forget who I left behind, you know?”

“I know,” Caleb replies, his voice unexpectedly understanding.

“Yeah,” Molly says. “Like… I’m enjoying this, I promise. It was really nice listening to you talk about Orion and about planets and stuff, but now I’m just beginning to realise how much Yasha and Caduceus would’ve liked this. They really would have liked this. And I want to go back home and tell them all about it, and tell them about the stars and your weird, human nonsense stories behind the shapes in them, but I can’t, and that sucks. It really sucks, Caleb.”

“I know,” Caleb says again. “I- I really am sorry, Mollymauk.”

Molly sighs. “I know you are,” he says. “I know, Caleb. I know you’re doing your best.” He lapses into silence, absently tugging at the grass around them. “…Could you- could you speak some more?” he asks eventually. “About the stars.”

“Oh!” Caleb says, blinking. “You would- you would like me to tell you about more constellations?”

“Yes, please.” He doesn’t know if it’ll help. He thinks it might. He knows that he likes the sound of Caleb’s voice, and the knowledge that Caleb holds and shares so easily.

“I can do that,” Caleb replies. He shifts a little, looking around, and eventually awkwardly pats the grass to Molly’s side. “Um, ah, lie back again, then.”

Molly does. He settles back in the grass as Caleb lies down beside him, close enough now that he can faintly feel the warmth of Caleb’s skin against his side. He folds his hands on his stomach, not wanting to frighten Caleb by reaching for his hand, and runs his fingertips absently over the pattern of the flannel. It’s soft and familiar, and it still smells just as good as it ever did, and that, in it’s own wonderful, terrifying way, is unexpectedly comforting.

Caleb clears his throat quietly. “So, over there we have Ursa Major,” he says, his soft voice filling the cool night air. “It goes by many names, such as the Big Dipper, and the Plough. I knew it as the Plough growing up – I got very confused when I would look for it on star maps and not find it before I realised why. And over there, near it, we have Ursa Minor – in stories they were a mother bear and her cub. And over there…”

And so it continues.

Caleb continues to speak, filling the universe in Molly’s eyes with countless tales of humans thinking and believing human things. He speaks and speaks and speaks some more, occasionally checking in with Molly to make sure that he is not boring him, and it’s only once he runs out of constellations to name that he falls silent. They lie side by side in the grass, arms and legs and shoulders brushing. At the foot of the garden, the leaves of the oak tree whisper their secrets beneath the stars.

In the silence, Caleb turns his head and looks over at Molly. Molly is still staring up, the stars reflected back in his eyes in a thousand shades of red, and whenever he shifts his gaze to another constellation, quietly mouthing the names of them to himself as though trying to remember them, the stars inside his eyes shift, reforming their own galaxies and nebulae and clusters. His skin looks halfway to silver in the starlight, the purple washed out to the colour of fading sunsets and making him look almost like a painting come to life. He looks beautiful, almost impossibly so – he looks like he shouldn’t exist here, in Caleb’s plane of existence, and he knows logically that that’s more or less true because Molly _doesn’t_ belong here, but that’s not what he means. He means that Molly shouldn’t be here, with him.

He means that Molly shouldn’t be in his life, in more ways than just accidental summonings.

  


Caleb tries to pull his gaze away, and he fails. Molly is starlight turned living, is moonlight given flesh. His lips are quirked up in a small, impossibly soft smile, his hands folded over his stomach and his fingers loosely curled in the fabric of Caleb’s flannel. He looks soft, comfortable and content, and he looks like everything that Caleb has ever wanted. He wants to move closer, to rest his head against Molly’s shoulder and feel the warmth of his Hells-warm skin; he wants to tangle their fingers together again, but with intent this time, made clear and obvious by words and feelings. He wants for Molly to know the warmth in his chest that he himself is only now coming to realise.

He likes Molly, he realises belatedly. He likes Molly a lot.

He would really, _really_ like to kiss him.

But he can’t. He _can’t_. There’s absolutely no way that he can even consider doing that, not with a clean conscience. Molly is- he’s- he’s his _prisoner_ , more or less. He’s limited entirely to where Caleb has permitted him to go; he relies on Caleb for food, and for entertainment, and for everything else. It is thanks to Caleb that he is here, yes, but it’s also thanks to Caleb that he’s comfortable. For all he knows, Molly could only be acting this nice and this friendly out of a sense of self preservation. He’s a witch, a threat, and he holds all the power in this equation. He cannot have Molly. He cannot allow himself to even consider having Molly. He is better than that.

He is better than Trent.

He will not lord his power over someone and force them to follow his wishes.

And besides, even if somehow, _somehow,_ they weren’t in this situation, he still wouldn’t know if Molly liked him back the same way. He doubts it, though. The idea of someone as nice as Molly, as beautiful as Molly, as _good_ and sweet and purely _kind_ as Molly liking Caleb, and his awkwardness, and his quietness, and his strange, unusual life… it’s impossible. It doesn’t fit in Caleb’s head. Molly doesn’t like Caleb. He _can’t_ like Caleb. What they have now is an agreement, an arrangement. Molly doesn’t cause trouble, and he teaches Caleb small things about the Nine Hells, and in exchange Caleb keeps him entertained, and figures out how to send him home, and teaches him small things about his magic.

Although, there was another part to that arrangement, if he recalls correctly (and he knows that he does). It involved Infernal.

Caleb clears his throat. “Molly?” he asks softly.

“Yeah yeah?”

It’s stupid, how two quiet, absent words can make his heart warm so much. “Oh,” Caleb mutters quietly, before he can stop himself, “that’s cute.” There’s a pause. “Anyway,” he continues, “I was, ah… you said a while ago that you would teach me Infernal if I showed you more of my magic. And I feel I have upheld my end of that.”

Molly gives a quiet laugh. “Oh, you definitely have! No questions asked about that.”

“So could you, ah…”

“Could I teach you some Infernal?”

Caleb nods, feeling the blades of grass brush against his face. “ _Ja_.”

“Now?”

“If that is alright.”

“Caleb,” Molly says, his voice soft and quiet and almost impossibly fond. “Of course it’s alright.” Caleb hears as Molly shifts in the grass, and a moment later Molly’s face appears upside-down above his own, smiling and silhouetted against the tapestry of stars.

Caleb smiles. “ _Hallo_.”

“Hey,” Molly says quietly, smiling back.

“Should I sit up for this?”

“It might be easier if we’re face to face, dear.”

Caleb feels his smile turn a little teasing. “We’re face to face now,” he points out.

“We are,” Molly admits, “but it’s playing havoc with my spine. And you look strange upside-down. I’d much rather see you the right way up.”

It could be a trick of the starlight, but Caleb thinks he sees Molly’s cheeks colouring. If nothing else, he knows he can feel his own growing darker.

“Oh,” he says faintly. “Alright.” He moves a little, pushing himself up onto his elbows, and accidentally knocks his nose against Molly’s as he pushes himself into a seated position. “Ah, _Scheisse_ , sorry!”

“It’s alright,” Molly says with a quiet laugh. He shifts around on the grass until he’s sitting opposite Caleb and rubs absently at his nose with one hand, still laughing quietly. It’s a small action, one that should be entirely forgettable, but for some reason that he can’t discern, Caleb finds it hard to look away from. Molly looks so… so… so _normal_. He looks so normal, sitting beneath the stars and the branches of the spreading oak with Caleb’s flannel hanging around his shoulders, rubbing at his nose like Frumpkin does after sticking his face directly into one of Caleb’s mint jars. He looks normal, like he belongs here. Like he’s meant to be here.

And that is a very, very dangerous thought to have.

Caleb doesn’t let his smile waver as he pushes the thought aside. He doesn’t let his smile shift as Molly leans forwards, patting him absently on the knee as he drops his other hand. He doesn’t think about why, when he so normally flinches away from new touches, this one is so immediately acceptable and wanted. He doesn’t think about how much he wants Molly’s touch. He doesn’t think about that at all.

“Sorry,” he says again, when Molly’s laughter eventually fades out. Molly shakes his head a little, patting him on the knee again before drawing his hand back, and Caleb immediately misses the warmth of Molly’s skin through the fabric of his jeans.

“Really,” Molly says, “it’s alright, darling. It barely hurt at all.”

“But it hurt.”

“Hey, if it’s any consolation, Yasha once full-on headbutted me by accident and gave me a concussion. This is a lemure by comparison.”

Caleb frowns this time. He’s been aware that Molly uses very, very different idioms to the ones that are used on this plane, but that one sounded almost… normal. “A lemur? You have lemurs in the Hells?”

Molly’s eyes widen. “You have lemures _here_? I thought they only existed in the Hells!”

“ _Ja_ , of course we have lemurs!” Caleb replies, growing more baffled by the second. “We have several different species, as far as I am aware.”

“…We are talking about the same thing, right?”

“Lemurs?” Caleb asks.

“Lemures,” Molly echoes back at him. To Caleb’s ears the words more or less sound the same. There’s a very slight difference between them, but that could well be down to Molly’s accent.

“That’s what I said,” he says. “Lemurs. What are your lemurs like?”

“Small-ish creatures,” Molly says, holding his hands a foot and a half or so apart, “about this big? Kind of weird looking? Creepy eyes? Long fingers? What do _your_ lemures look like?”

“About the same,” Caleb replies faintly. “Black and white fur.”

“ _Fur_?”

“ _Ja_.”

“Fuck,” Molly says succinctly. “That’s different.” He pauses. “…Could I see your lemures? Would that be possible?”

Caleb thinks for a moment. There’s a zoo not too far from the house and he’s fairly certain that they have lemurs. If nothing else, he thinks, it could still make for an excellent day out. Molly hasn’t seen many material plane animals beyond Frumpkin and whatever he’s spotted on the internet; bringing him to a zoo sounds like it would be fun. Chaotic, probably, and almost certainly more than a little bit concerning, but the few times he’s left the house with Molly previously had all ended well. Molly has an excellent grasp over his glamour, and, as he’d promised, his horrible, terrible, _ghastly_ jacket had only served to keep attention _away_ from Caleb. He’d felt safe, somehow, in the shadow of Molly’s limelight. He’d felt safe by Molly’s side.

He’s going to bring him to the zoo.

“Yes,” he says firmly. “I- _ja, ja_ , I will take you to the zoo someday soon, Mollymauk.”

“Are there lemures in this ‘zoo’?” Molly asks cautiously.

Caleb nods. “Oh, _ja_. And lots of other animals too. Like elephants. And tigers. And penguins.”

“What’s a penguin?”

“You will have to wait and see.”

Molly groans. “ _Caleb_.”

“I am not ruining this zoo visit for you, Mollymauk!” He can’t keep a bubble of laughter from rising through his words, no matter how hard he tries.

Molly rolls his eyes. _“_ _ᘾ_ _’_ _ᗑᙪ_ _Ѩ_ _ᖨᏍ_ _’_ _ᖨᗇ_ _,”_ he grumbles under his breath.

“I do not know what that means, but I am assuming that you were insulting me in Infernal.”

“I was,” Molly admits immediately. “Though, speaking of that, didn’t I say I was going to teach you some Infernal?”

“You did,” Caleb replies, and Molly seems to brighten up almost immediately. His ears, which had drooped a little at Caleb’s refusal to tell him about penguins, twitch back upright again. “I am still more than happy for you to teach me, so long as you still wish to.”

“Of course I do.”

Caleb smiles. Molly is adorable in his excitement, his tail swishing back and forth behind him over the grass in the now-familiar indication of excitement and delight. “Then, please, start with your lesson.”

“Alright,” Molly says, and he clasps his hands together in his lap, beaming at Caleb. The faint starlight catches on his teeth, making his short fangs all the more prominent and visible. “What do you want to learn?”

“Anything,” Caleb replies unthinkingly. He can’t stop looking at Molly. He can’t stop looking at how Molly’s tattoos have turned silver in the faint glow of the stars; he can’t stop looking at Molly’s horns, twisting and turning and looking so, so familiar despite how entirely unusual they are; he can’t stop looking at Molly’s eyes, glowing softly in the darkness and looking for all the world as if they contain galaxies. They’re beautiful. _Molly_ is beautiful. He’s beautiful, and his smile is beautiful, and he’s sitting across from Caleb wearing Caleb’s flannel, and Caleb _wants_. He wants this. He wants Molly in his life, in his clothes, just existing around him and being brighter and more beautiful than any of the stars in the sky.

He wants that. But he cannot have it.

“Caleb?” Molly asks, snapping Caleb out of his daze. Caleb blinks and shakes his head, throwing the thoughts aside. This isn’t for him. _Molly_ isn’t for him. Molly is his- his _prisoner_ , and to even touch him without his permission would be such a disgusting abuse of power that Caleb doesn’t even want to think about it. Molly is- he _can’t_. He can’t touch Molly like he wants to. He can’t kiss Molly like he wants to.

“ _Was_?” he says, and when Molly smiles at him he feels his heart squeeze.

“I was asking if you heard what I said,” Molly says quietly, his smile turning a little mischievous. “But I’m guessing that you didn’t.”

“I- _nein_ , Mollymauk, I didn’t. I- I zoned out. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Molly says. “It’s late. I don’t blame you. I can teach you Infernal tomorrow, if you’re too tired now.”

Caleb shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Molly asks, his voice almost painfully soft and uncertain. “You still want to learn Infernal?”

“ _Ja_. Please.”

“Alright. Shall I repeat what I said again?”

Caleb smiles. “Please.”

_“_ _ᗖᗑ_ _ᚱ_ _Ѩ_ _Ꮝ_ _ᙪ_ _Ѧ_ _ᱡ_ _Ѧ_ _ᘾ_ _,”_ Molly says, and somehow, from his mouth, the harsh consonants and snapping syllables of the Infernal language sound softer. Gentler. They still sound strange, the language unknown and alien to Caleb’s ears, but they don’t sound bad. They sound pleasant, almost. They sound nice. It is still Molly’s voice, and it is still Molly’s accent, and it is Molly’s native tongue that he’s speaking in now, entirely comfortable and entirely familiar.

And it sounds nice.

It sounds really, really nice.

Caleb glances away. “What, ah, what does that mean?”

“It means _goodnight_.”

“Oh. I like that.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Ja_. It’s a useful phrase.”

When Molly replies, Caleb can hear his grin. “You’re trusting that I’m not teaching you how to say something naughty.”

Caleb smiles, just a little, and looks back at Molly. “I am,” he admits. “But, for this, I trust you enough. And if it turns out that you _have_ taught me something rude, then I will tell the next demon I summon exactly who taught it to me.”

Molly’s smile widens. “Fair enough,” he says. “But I swear, this just means _goodnight_. Nothing else.”

“Twist your tail?” Caleb asks.

“Cross my heart,” Molly replies. “Now, go on, see if you can say it. _ᗖᗑ_ _ᚱ_ _Ѩ_ _Ꮝ_ _ᙪ_ _Ѧ_ _ᱡ_ _Ѧ_ _ᘾ_ _._ ”

It takes a while for Caleb to master the phrase; the syllables are not ones that he’s really had to pronounce in that order before and they feel clumsy on his tongue, jarring and unbalanced. More than once Molly laughs at his attempts, the sound soft and muffled behind a hand, but Caleb can see Molly’s eyes sparkling in amusement, and he never once feels like he’s being laughed _at_. It feels like shared humour, shared amusement, held and kept secret between the two of them, out in the garden beneath the stars. This is a private moment, with Caleb stumbling over Molly’s language and Molly teaching him patiently, saying the words over and over again every time Caleb asks for him to repeat them. This is a moment just for them.

At some point, unnoticed by either of them, Molly’s tail comes to settle around Caleb’s wrist. It lies there as Caleb finally manages to pronounce the phrase correctly for the first time, and it squeezes gently as Molly makes a small, delighted sound, clapping his hands together and grinning wider than Caleb thinks he’s ever seen.

“Caleb!” he exclaims. “That was perfect!”

“ _ᗖᗑ_ _ᚱ_ _Ѩ_ _Ꮝ_ _ᙪ_ _Ѧ_ _ᱡ_ _Ѧ_ _ᘾ_ _?_ ” Caleb repeats. It still feels clunky but it’s easier to say now, and when Molly nods enthusiastically he can’t stop himself from smiling. _“_ _ᗖᗑ_ _ᚱ_ _Ѩ_ _Ꮝ_ _ᙪ_ _Ѧ_ _ᱡ_ _Ѧ_ _ᘾ_ _._ _ᗖᗑ_ _ᚱ_ _Ѩ_ _Ꮝ_ _ᙪ_ _Ѧ_ _ᱡ_ _Ѧ_ _ᘾ_ _!”_

“You’ve got it!” Molly says. His tail squeezes Caleb’s wrist again and he grins, wide and delighted. “I mean, if I’m being honest, your accent is _atrocious_ , but it’s definitely understandable.”

“Oh, well, I apologise for not yet being as fluent as you, Mr Mollymauk,” Caleb replies, grinning back at him. “What a struggle this must be for you, to hear me butchering your language.”

Molly laughs softly, waving a hand. “It’s a mild butchering. You don’t sound like you’re from the Hells at _all_ , but your accent actually sounds very nice.”

Caleb tilts his head to one side, still smiling even through the slight confusion that settles on him. He’s not quite sure if that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment. He assumes insult. He’s hoping compliment. He would very, very much like for it to be a compliment. He would like to know that Molly likes the sound of his voice as much as he likes the sound of Molly’s.

He would like for Molly to know how he feels, and to feel the same in return.

But he cannot have that, and he will not take it.

_Not for you_ , Caleb thinks.

Across from him, Molly echoes the same thought. _Not for you_ , he tells himself, and they both smile at each other.

_“_ _ᗖᗑ_ _ᚱ_ _Ѩ_ _Ꮝ_ _ᙪ_ _Ѧ_ _ᱡ_ _Ѧ_ _ᘾ_ _,_ Caleb,” Molly says.

Caleb’s smile softens. He reaches out, feeling Molly’s tail tighten around his wrist, and, for a moment, imagines laying his hand on Molly’s cheek. He imagines cupping Molly’s jaw, resting a hand on his waist, leaning in and checking to see if he wants this as much as Caleb does, and then kissing him. He imagines a situation where he is not Molly’s warden, and where Molly is not his summon, and where there is no power imbalance and where Molly does not dislike him as he so likely does.

He likes that imagined world. He likes it very much.

Caleb leans forwards a little and takes Molly’s hand in his own, squeezing it gently. He cannot have Molly, and he knows that. He understands that. This is just a crush, based on physical attraction and absolutely nothing else, and it will fade. This is okay. This is enough.

_“_ _ᗖᗑ_ _ᚱ_ _Ѩ_ _Ꮝ_ _ᙪ_ _Ѧ_ _ᱡ_ _Ѧ_ _ᘾ_ _,_ Mollymauk,” he says. _Good night_.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art credit! The gorgeous art of Molly in this chapter is by [heidzdraws](https://twitter.com/heidzdraws/status/1101974425459658752?s=21l) on Twitter. The lovely piece of Molly and Caleb in this chapter is by [amothboy](http://amothboy.tumblr.com/) on Twitter and Tumblr. The beautiful piece of Molly at the end of this chapter is by [PandaMeNope](https://twitter.com/PandaMeNope) on Twitter.
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on March 6th!


	10. Chapter 10

They don’t discuss the stargazing. They don’t discuss the handholding. Both Molly and Caleb are content to have the memory of that night, and to leave it at that. They don’t forget about it, though. The first night after that one, when Molly leaves the room to go to bed, Caleb bids him goodnight with a quiet “ _ᗑ_ _ᚱѨ_ _Ꮝ_ _ᙪѦ_ _ᱡ_ _Ѧ_ _ᘾ,”_ and Molly can’t stop himself from grinning as he says it back. The utterly baffled looks on Nott and Beau’s faces had only added to his delight, as had the quietly smug look on Caleb’s face. It was a really good look on him, that little smug smile. _Everything_ is a good look on Caleb.

Unknown to Molly, Caleb thinks much the same about him.

It’s almost annoying, he thinks absently one morning, how practically _everything_ seems to suit Molly. He looks good in pyjamas, and he looks good in close-cut t-shirts and really, _really_ skinny jeans, and he looks good in the long, flowy cardigan that he likes to wear around the house sometimes, and he even looks good in the horrible, awful, disgusting jacket.

He looks good in Caleb’s clothes.

He’d looked really good in pyjamas, lit up faintly by the stars overhead, with Caleb’s favourite flannel around his shoulders. He’d looked so, so good then. It’s at times like this that Caleb is grateful for his photographic memory – all he has to do is shut his eyes, and cast his mind back to just a few short days ago, and remember how it had felt to look over at Molly, lying in the grass with his painted nails and purple skin a washed-out contrast against Caleb’s flannel.

Caleb wants to do it again. He really, truly, desperately wants to go stargazing with Molly again. He wants to take his hand, and take him down to the garden, and lie down side-by-side with him on the grass, so close that he can feel the warmth of his demon-blood against his own skin. He wants to take Molly’s hand and point out the stars above. He wants to talk about the stars and the constellations, happy and content in the knowledge that Molly honestly doesn’t mind his rambling. He wants Molly to teach him more Infernal as the stars shine overhead. He wants to rest a hand on Molly’s thigh.

He wants to kiss him.

Caleb blinks slowly, dreamily. Across the room from him, Molly is still leaning over the kitchen counter to chat with Beau, his tail swishing happily from side to side. He’s in a loose, comfortable-looking off-the-shoulder top today, the smooth white fabric contrasting beautifully against his purple skin. Caleb can see the lines and swirls of ink that adorn him wrapping down his neck and across his shoulder, where the blue-green ink of the peacock suddenly meets the gold and red and yellow of the sun wrapped around the top of his shoulder before merging with the flowers trailing down his arm. His tattoos are beautiful. _He’s_ beautiful. He’s beautiful, and out of place, and so stunning that Caleb doesn’t know what to do. He just keeps watching, his chin resting on one hand as Beau makes some comment that sends Molly into peals of laughter.

_Just a crush_ , he tells himself absently. _Just a crush. Nothing to worry about. This will fade_.

Molly glances back over his shoulder mid-laugh, all six eyes crinkling and his mouth curling in amusement, and makes eye contact with Caleb, as if making sure that he’s joining in with the hilarity.

Caleb’s heart skips a beat.

_Just a crush_ , he tells himself again, more firmly. _Just. A. Crush_.

“Caleb!”

Beau’s voice snaps him out of his daze. He jerks his head up, a hum sounding in his throat as he blinks rapidly and turns his head to look over at Beau, now standing in the open archway into the counter.

He coughs. “ _Ja_?”

“I was asking what you wanted me to do with Molly,” she says, tilting her head towards the demon in question.

Caleb frowns. “What?”

“Your meeting,” Beau reminds him. “ _Today_. With that fancy fuckin’ client. Mr Elephant, or whatever the fuck his name was.”

“Mr Emeritus,” Caleb corrects absently. “And Mollymauk will stay here for the meeting.”

“ _What_?” Beau exclaims. “Seriously?”

“ _Ja_.”

Beau glares at him, glowering. Caleb is quite impressed by the glower. It’s very powerful. He feels that if he were any less than Beau’s close friend and housemate, he would likely be swayed by such a glower. “How come he gets to stay here?” she demands. “You always kick me and Nott out of the house for your meetings. Why does Molly get to stay?”

“Because,” Caleb explains patiently, “last time that you and Nott stayed here during a meeting I came back to my office to find scorch marks on the ceiling, and I had to politely explain to my client that my hexes are only ever triggered by the trigger mechanism, and not accidentally.”

Beau glowers some more, but it’s a more begrudgingly understanding glower now. “You don’t kick Frumpkin out…”

“He is a cat.”

“And Molly’s a demon,” Beau points out. “So, like, surely you’d want him out of the house so that he’s _super_ hidden, right? Get him to do his…” She waves hand over her face. “His, y’know…”

“His glamour?”

“Yeah, that! He can do that, Nott and I can get donuts or something with him, it’ll be great.”

At the counter, Caleb sees Molly visibly perk up at the mention of donuts. Jester had brought some over a few weeks ago after discovering that while the Nine Hells _does_ have baked goods of various sorts, donuts had somehow passed them by. The sight of Molly with white icing clinging to his lip had been distracting to say the least.

Caleb blinks and the image fades, being replaced by the much less pleasant image of Beau’s still rather annoyed face. He coughs. “ _Was?”_

“Donuts,” Beau repeats impatiently. “Or ice cream, or we could go see a movie or whatever. I’m just saying that it makes more sense for Molly to be out of the house than in it.”

“It does,” Caleb admits, “but he has to stay here.”

“But _why_?”

“Because Mollymauk cannot leave the building without me,” he points out, and turns back to his open laptop.

“Oh,” he hears Beau say. “Oh, shit, yeah, that’s a good fucking point.”

“And as I need to be here in order to actually have the meeting, Mollymauk must also remain here.” He glances up over the screen, making eye contact with Molly. He’d explained the situation to him yesterday, when the realisation that Molly would have to be in the house during the meeting suddenly made itself known to him, but Molly hadn’t seemed to mind. If anything, he’d seemed excited at the possibility of being able to listen in on Caleb talking ‘proper fancy magic,’ though Caleb had explained to him the need to stay out of sight. “So he will remain in my office in glamour, where he has promised not to meddle with anything potentially dangerous.”

Beau frowns some more. “Isn’t _everything_ in that room potentially dangerous?”

“ _Ja_.”

“Nott’s lending me her tablet to keep me occupied,” Molly says. “She said she wanted to see if I could beat her score at Tetris.”

“You managed to convince Nott to lend you her _tablet_?” Caleb asks, more than a little bit shocked.

Molly grins. “What, like it’s hard?”

“…Who showed you _Legally Blonde?_ ”

“No one.”

“ _Molly_.”

“…It was Jester.”

Caleb sighs. “Of course it was,” he mutters. “I do not know why I thought inviting her round to show you films was a good idea.”

“It was the _best_ idea,” Molly says, grinning even wider. “Even you enjoyed the first movie with us. _And_ Jester told me that you like _Legally Blonde_.”

Caleb doesn’t comment. He specifically doesn’t comment on how he’s actually not sure what movie he watched with Molly and Jester, as he’d been too distracted with sneaking glances at Molly the entire night to pay attention. He frowns at Molly, doing his best to push the memory aside.

Molly smiles back sunnily. “Admit it,” he says.

“Admit _what_?”

“That you enjoy _Legally Blonde_.”

From behind the counter, Caleb hears Beau give a world-weary sigh at Molly’s antics. For a moment he considers joining her, leaving Molly without a reply and going back to his work, but… he can’t. Molly’s grinning, full-on grinning as if this is the best and most wonderful thing they could possibly talk about, and Caleb can’t begrudge him that.

He folds his arms across his chest. “Fine,” he mutters. “ _Ja_ , well… alright. So perhaps I do enjoy _Legally Blonde_.”

“Everyone enjoys _Legally Blonde_ ,” Beau mutters from behind the counter, pouring the protein shake she’s been making into a sports bottle. “Even Fjord enjoys _Legally Blonde._ And he likes the second one, too.”

Caleb watches Molly’s eyes go wide.

“There’s _another_ one?” he breathes.

“Uh-huh.”

“ _Caleb_ ,” Molly says, turning to look at him. He doesn’t leave the counter but he leans back against it, looking more hopeful than Caleb thinks he’s ever seen. “I want to see it. Please.”

Caleb considers for a moment. He wasn’t lying – he _does_ quite enjoy _Legally Blonde_ , and he supposes that it could be a nice way to spend the evening. He hasn’t really had the time to properly relax and have a nice movie night with Beau and Nott for a while now, and the idea of spending another several hours sitting next to Molly in the dark, catching glimpses of his face illuminated by the light of the TV, is more than a little bit tempting.

“How about,” he says eventually, “if this meeting goes well then we can watch it tonight?”

“What counts as ‘going well’?” Beau asks, a sentiment that Molly somehow manages to express just as well from nothing but a slight shift in his expression.

Caleb shrugs. “First of all, I would very much like to get paid in full for this. And for it to just be a… a good meeting. With a client who is not an asshole, and who actually takes one of my business cards so that I can get more jobs. That would be very nice.”

Molly blinks. “Is finding jobs a problem?”

“Ah, somewhat?” Caleb pulls a slight face. “It is- the magical community is not the largest, but there is still some struggle to make a name for yourself, and there is always the risk of encountering a period of time with no jobs. The more people who take my business card, the better. Although,” he adds, unable to stop a small, proud smile from tugging at his lips, “I _do_ have a bit of a reputation now. I am very good at what I do, Mollymauk.”

“And what’s that?”

“Text translation, spell preparation, banishings and summonings,” Caleb replies. “Hexes, charms – though those are more Jester’s area than my own – and occasional potion brewing, though I do that less these days.”

“In other words,” Beau interrupts from the kitchen, “he’s a professional _nerd_.” She shuts a cupboard door as if to emphasise her point and grabs her bottle of the counter, quickly shoving it into her gym bag. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. I need to go to the gym and then I’ve got a meeting with Dairon. Message me when you’re done with your wizard stuff. I’ll grab movie snacks and pick up Nott on the way home. Also, I’m borrowing your car.”

Caleb doesn’t even blink. “Alright. Thank you, Beauregard,” he replies, not looking up from his laptop. She leaves the room, clapping him on the shoulder as she passes, and a moment later he hears the front door open and then shut with a slam.

There’s a pause.

“Does she _ever_ shut the door quietly?” Molly asks.

Caleb gives a short laugh. “I’m afraid not. It appears that she has some personal vendetta against doors.”

“Poor doors.”

“Mm.”

“Perhaps one did something terrible to her in a past life.”

Caleb looks up at Molly, smiling despite himself. “ _Ja_? Like what?”

Molly shrugs, hopping up to sit on the counter. “Oh, I don’t know. You never know what a door might be capable of.”

“I imagine that the worst would be splinters.”

“Maybe she got a horrible splinter in her past life,” Molly suggests. “A _really_ big one. Stabbed her right through the thumb, got blood all over her shirt. It was terrible. Weeping and tears galore.”

Caleb laughs properly at that. “From _Beauregard_?”

“Excellent point, well made. No weeping _or_ tears. But definitely blood.”

“There’s frequently blood when Beau is around.”

“Yeah, but this is _door_ blood. It’s different.”

“Beauregard’s greatest enemy,” Caleb muses thoughtfully, reaching out and absently shutting his laptop with a soft _click_. “Doors…”

“They can be dangerous,” Molly agrees. Caleb smiles at him again and then stands, running a hand through his hair before tugging it back into its typical short ponytail. As lovely – and ridiculous – as the conversation is, he knows that he needs to stay focused. After all, he has a meeting to prepare for, although perhaps ‘prepare’ is the wrong word. ‘Tidy up so that the house is not a mess’ would be closer to the truth.

“Soooo,” Molly says, swinging his legs and bouncing his feet of the side of the counter as Caleb continues to observe the room, frowning to himself. “Who’s this client of yours?”

“I’m not sure,” Caleb replies absently, flicking his hand and quickly brushing the lingering crumbs off the dining table with a sweep of magic. “We have been communicating over email so far.”

“So why’s he coming to the house? Correct me if I’m wrong, darling, but you normally seem very… careful.”

Caleb can hear the connotations behind the word. He knows what Molly means. He knows how Molly is, like him, thinking of Caleb’s tendency to go by another name and face in the magical community. He knows how Molly is thinking of how painfully careful and cautious he is every time they leave the house together. He knows what Molly means. And Molly is right.

“Sometimes you cannot avoid meeting in person,” he replies. He raises his shoulders in a shrug, inspecting the room with a critical eye. It looks _mostly_ clean; there’s some crumbs on the floor, and some dust lingering along the top shelves of the bookcases, but the novelty cat cushions have all been put away in favour of the Serious Business cushions, and the vase of flowers that Nott brought in from outside are still bright and colourful. There’s still some mugs and plates that need to be put away, and the items on the bookshelves could do with being tidied up, but all in all it’s not _bad_. A little bit of straightening out and it should be alright. Besides, he’s been hired for his skill as an arcane translator, not for his skill as an interior decorator. And he feels that Frumpkin sitting comfortably on one of the couches is a nice touch. Caleb likes having Frumpkin around during meetings. He always feels that having a cat around – even a dark ginger tabby – makes him look more witch-ey.

He looks at Frumpkin. Frumpkin looks back.

An understanding is made.

The fact that it is the same understanding that cat and owner have made for every client meeting – that Frumpkin shall sit and look impressively familiar-like for the duration of the meeting, and in exchange Caleb will give him many, many treats – is irrelevant.

“Anyway,” Caleb says, turning back to Molly, “I need to give him the text at some point, and postage of something that large and heavy is very expensive. I am not made of money, Mollymauk.”

Molly frowns. “Just hire a lemure to take it there,” he says, before waving an arm at the room around them. “And besides, from what I can see, you have enough for _this_.”

“This is Beauregard’s house; I just pay rent.” Caleb pauses. “Well, technically this is actually Beauregard’s _father’s_ house, but my rent goes to her. We have an agreement.”

“What kind of agreement?”

“I teach her magic and don’t tell her father what she gets up to, and in exchange Nott and I get a discount on rent.”

“That sounds like a pretty good agreement,” Molly comments.

“It is. It also means that I don’t have to worry about my housemates suddenly learning about my magic, so I am free to use it as I would like to.” Caleb can feel a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he says that. He hadn’t been able to freely use his magic for most of his life, first hiding it from his parents, and then from his neighbours and friends, and then from everyone he knew when he went to university before… well. Before his supervisor changed.

But that’s all behind him now. _Trent_ is behind him. It’s been ten years or so since Caleb last saw the man who was once his supervisor, who taught him so much and has filled every year since their parting with fear. He still hears Trent’s name in the magical community – it would be impossible not to, given the man’s status and skill – but he hasn’t seen him, and he’s alright with that. He doesn’t want to see Trent again. He doesn’t want Trent to see _him_ again. He wants to be unknown, and invisible, and he doesn’t want anyone in the magic community outside of his small, trusted group of friends to ever even be aware of the name ‘Caleb Widogast’.

He never wants Trent to find him.

But Trent won’t. He _shouldn’t_. Caleb knows the people around him, and he trusts them. He may not have told many of them what exactly happened in his past, but they’ve never asked it from him. It’s always been enough for them to know that he prefers to keep his personal life and his magical life entirely separate, and they’ve all been good at respecting that. They know to call him Liam O’Brien (or, as Jester insists, Magic Brian) when he’s around the magical community, and they know not to mention his actual name too often, and they stick to that. It’s good. It’s nice. It’s _safe_.

His life is safe. His home is safe. His friends are safe.

Molly is safe, and he’s looking at Caleb with a faint smile and a look in his eyes that Caleb can’t quite interpret.

Caleb looks away. Looking at Molly, right now, somehow feels like too much. “Anyway,” he continues, crossing to the window seat and poking at the cushions adorning it, “I find it is good practise to talk over the translation or job result with the client. Sometimes they have questions, or they may want to see the proof of my work. Or, for some spells, an explanation of how to use it is needed.”

“Does that happen often? People not knowing how to use spells?”

“Oh, _ja_. More often than you would think,” Caleb replies. There’s no cat cushions in sight, but the cushions _do_ look a little bit wonky, and he can spot some lingering strands of Frumpkin hair. He leans over a little, waving a hand and wrapping his magic around every ginger hair as he continues to talk. “I once had a client who didn’t want to talk at all and ended up casting the hex on themself. That was rather amusing to hear about.”

“Yeah?” Molly replies, but the question sounds almost unconscious, like something else entirely has caught his attention. Even without looking at him Caleb can imagine the position that he’s in – sitting up on the counter, leaning back on his arms with one leg crossed over the other. It’s a pose that Caleb has seen him in several times now, and it’s never failed to be anything but annoyingly distracting.

Caleb takes a breath. _Not the time for that_ , he thinks to himself. _Do not look at him. If Molly is here observing then he may as well be here helping._

He very pointedly does not think about how Molly moving around, putting things away and generally tidying the place up, will give him plenty of opportunities to sneak glances at his exposed tattoos. He doesn’t think about that at all.

“Do you want to make yourself helpful?” Caleb asks, bending over further to straighten some of the cushions on the window seat and dismissing the cat hair with a flick of his wrist.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Molly replies. His voice is lazy, drawling and slow like honey but with something hotter hidden behind it, and it sends warmth racing down Caleb’s spine. “I’m rather enjoying the view from here.”

Against the cushions, Caleb’s hands fall still. He can feel the heat rising in his face and ears and for a moment wishes that he hadn’t tied his hair back in a ponytail that morning. As it is, he knows that his ears are entirely visible, and very likely are entirely red.

_Breathe_ , he reminds himself, as his vision goes a little funny. _Breathe, Widogast. Molly does- he doesn’t mean anything by that. He is not being serious._

Molly may not being serious, but if Caleb is entirely honest with himself, he doesn’t know what he would do if Molly _were_ being serious. After all, how is he supposed to react to that? He’s only one man – one small, cowardly, weak-willed human man – and Molly is- he’s- he’s _Molly_. He’s bright, and he’s colourful, and he’s got curling horns, and purple skin, and two tongues, and six eyes, and a split tail, and tattoos that Caleb wants to fucking _lick_ , and Caleb thinks that if he were to find out that Molly were actually, truly, _really_ interested in him, he might just die on the spot.

Distantly, he wonders if he knows a spell to open up the ground beneath his feet and give him a convenient exit to the conversation, but, sadly, he doesn’t. And he’s still bent over, frozen above the cushions, while Molly- well. While Molly does whatever it is that he’s doing.

Caleb coughs. “Uh,” he says, his voice croaking and hoarse. “I, um, uh, okay.”

“Hmm,” Molly hums, his voice so close to a purr that Caleb’s knees briefly feel weak. There’s a pause, in which Caleb can hear his heart hammering away in his ears, and then, after a while, Molly adds, “Fine, I’ll help. Just tell me what to do.”

Caleb coughs again, more from relief this time. He feels hot all over, flushed red and warm like he’s just run a marathon. He can hear Molly’s feet quietly hitting the floor by the counter, can hear Molly approaching, but he doesn’t look at him. He _can’t_. Not when he still feels moments away from physically combusting.

“Could you,” he starts, “could you, ah… would you be so good as to tidy the table? Put any crockery in the sink, and put any papers and items that aren’t crockery on the sideboard or the counter. I’ll tidy them up later.”

“Do you want me to wash up the crockery?”

Caleb looks over at Molly. The demon doesn’t look like he’s joking, his eyes already darting over the room and locating the scattered glasses and mugs that have built up over the last few days – despite Nott and Beau’s best attempts, Caleb’s tea habit is still going strong.

“Would you?” he asks, and Molly nods.

“Certainly,” he replies, “Of course I would. I mean, I basically live here now. It’s only right and proper that I pull my weight, help out where I can, all that.”

“But you are-”

“If you call me a guest, Caleb,” Molly says, turning and catching Caleb’s eye with a mischievous grin. “I’m only going to do the washing up _more_. Just you watch me.”

_I’d like to_ , Caleb’s brain says, before he can stop it.

“Uhng,” says his mouth. “I, uh… alright.”

“’Alright’, I can do the washing up?”

“… _Ja_?”

“Gotcha.” Molly shoots him a wink, three of his eyes closing in unison. It’s a little bit unsettling, in a definitely not-even-remotely-attractive kind of way. Caleb swallows. “Let me know if you need me to do anything else.”

“Alright,” Caleb replies, his mouth operating on automatic, and then he turns back to the cushions before his blush can get any darker.

Between the two of them it doesn’t take long to tidy the dining room and kitchen to an acceptable standard, and barely twenty minutes later Caleb is inspecting the room again, unable to find fault with any of Molly’s work.

“All good?” Molly asks, leaning back against a wall. “Anything else we need to do?”

“Well,” Caleb says, resting his hands on his hips as he looks around the room. “I need to bring the original text itself through from my office, as well as the translation and my referenced texts, but that should be about it.”

“You want a hand with that?”

“With bringing through the texts?” Caleb asks, looking at Molly with a frown.

Molly shrugs, sticking his hands in the pockets of his ridiculously tight, dark red trousers. “Yeah,” he says. “C’mon, Caleb, it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do until your client arrives. I might as well help out.”

Caleb can’t exactly argue with that. “Well,” he says, “alright. I will- come through to my office, and I’ll tell you what needs to be moved.”

It’s a quick process to move the books through, with Molly staying behind as Caleb carries the last one over to the dining room table. When he returns, it’s to see Molly standing before one of the many bookcases that fill the room, running his fingers gently along the spines of the books filling one shelf.

“Are these all yours?” he asks, the moment that Caleb enters the room again.

“Um,” Caleb says, caught off guard. “ _Ja_ , yes, they are all mine.”

“You’ve got a lot of books,” Molly remarks.

Caleb shrugs, turning to shut the door behind him. He knows there’s no point in doing it, but ever since university it’s been habit for him. His office is his space, personal and private; he knows every single items that it holds, knows where everything is, and it’s _his_. “I like to read.”

“What’s this one?” Molly asks. Caleb turns to see him stepping back from the bookcase with a curious expression on his face, turning over an old, cloth-bound book in his hands. The fabric binding it has faded, wearing thin along the edges of the cover and the creases of the spine, and the gold lettering printed on the spine is so old and worn away as to be practically illegible. Caleb knows what it says all the same, though. He knows every letter on the crackling, yellowed pages.

He swallows. “That is, um…”

“It smells old,” Molly remarks absently. His fingers trail across the cover and slip down to trace over the edges of the pages. Caleb remembers how, once upon a time, the pages were edged with gold too. Not any longer. Years of love have eroded the gilding away, leaving the paper curling and crinkling and smelling of dust.

Caleb looks back up to Molly. “It is old,” he says quietly, and watches as Molly carefully turns the book over, tracing the raised bands on the spine. “It was second-hand when I got it, and I have had it for many years.”

“Where did you get it?” Molly asks. “It’s not quite my style, but it’s very nice. Very quaint. I think Yasha would like something like this.”

Caleb smiles. “My parents gave it to me.”

“They must have known you well.”

“They did. They knew me very well.”

Caleb can see Molly notice the change in tense. He looks up from where he’d still been tracing absent patterns on the cover of the book, frowning at Caleb in confusion. “They don’t know you well anymore?”

“Well,” Caleb says carefully, “it would be hard for them to know me well at all right now.”

Molly frowns some more. “What?”

_Bite the bullet_. “My parents are dead, Mollymauk.”

“Oh,” Molly says quietly, and then his eyes grow wide. “Oh! Oh, Caleb, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know-”

“It’s alright,” Caleb says quickly, brushing off Molly’s apologies and giving him a smile. “Really. They died in an accident a while ago. I am… it’s alright.”

Molly still looks a little crestfallen. He’s holding the book more carefully now too, Caleb realises; he was holding it carefully before, but now he’s holding it like it’s something precious, something important. He looks at Caleb and then back down at the book, eyes skimming across the faded light blue cover, and gently runs a finger down the spine again, his silver nails a gorgeous contrast against the fabric. “Do you want me to-” he starts, before cutting himself off. “Should I- should I put this back?”

Caleb shakes his head. “You are welcome to look at it,” he assures Molly. “Or read it. It is a book, Mollymauk. It is meant to be read. There is no point in ridding it of its purpose.”

“But it’s-”

“Just a book,” Caleb finishes for him. Molly looks up at him, his eyes soft and a little concerned, and so Caleb continues. “It does have great value to me, but there is no point in keeping something like this if it is not read. It would be like- like- like buying a film and then never watching it. Or buying some food and not eating it.” He looks at Molly, at the dangling silver earrings hanging from his pointed ears, and smiles. “It would be like buying jewellery just to observe it, and never wearing it out. It is precious, and important, but it is still a book. And books are meant to be read.”

Molly’s expression is unreadable. He looks for a moment like he’s trying to say something, his mouth opening and closing a few times, but nothing comes out. He just continues to trail his fingers up and down the spine of the book, brushing them along the edges of the pages like he’s caressing a sleeping cat. His every action is careful and gentle, and in that moment Caleb feels compelled to speak again.

“And besides,” he adds, “I trust you with it, Mollymauk. I know that you will not damage it.”

The smile that spreads across Molly’s face is tiny and as bright as the sun. “Yeah?”

“ _Ja_. I know you will look after it.” He doesn’t know how he knows. He doesn’t know why he feels so absolutely relaxed and content, seeing the time-worn book held in Molly’s hands. But it is enough for him to know that he does, and to know that he trusts Molly, at least with this. Molly, he knows, will not damage the book. Not intentionally.

Molly’s smile widens a little. He looks back down at the book and slowly crosses to the desk, sitting down on it and resting the book gently in his lap. He turns it over a few times, lifting it slightly and inspecting the spine.

“What is it?” he asks. “I can’t see what the spine says…”

“It’s a book of fairytales.”

Caleb can see Molly’s eyes narrowing a little in confusion. “Fairytales?”

“ _Ja_. You know, fantastical stories told to children-”

“I know what fairytales are, Caleb.” Molly tilts his head a little, inspecting the spine further. There’s still a few flecks of gold leaf clinging to it, holding fast to the threads and fibres that make up the cover, but not nearly enough to make a single word out of. The title doesn’t matter, though. Not to Caleb. To him, the most important words are the ones written just inside the cover.

“May I…?” Caleb asks, holding out a hand to Molly, and Molly nods immediately.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely, of course!” He passes the book to Caleb and Caleb takes it gratefully, feeling the familiar texture of the cloth covering beneath his fingertips. Every inch of its surface is familiar to him, as familiar as his own body and being and magic. He knows this book as well as he knows himself, having read it more times than he can count since the day he got it. He moves over to the desk, sitting down on it next to Molly, and rests the book gently in his lap. Sat like this, with their legs pressed together, he can faintly smell the incense-spice scent that clings to Molly’s skin. He’d smelled it on his flannel when Molly had returned it to him the following morning, and it had taken him an embarrassingly long time to actually put the flannel in the laundry basket. But now, in here, in the safety and privacy of his office, Molly’s scent is mixed and mingled with the familiar smells of dust, and ink, and paper, and soot, and a hundred thousand other things that make up his little witch’s treasure trove. It is hard to tell where Molly ends and Caleb’s life begins.

Caleb sighs out softly and carefully flips the cover of the book open. The swirling facing inside is also faded but unlike the cover it retains much of its original colour, painting the space between cover and words in soft blues and greens and browns and occasional hints of purple. Barely aware of Molly peering quietly over his shoulder, he turns another page.

For a moment, the soft rustle of paper feels like the only sound in the world.

The page falls flat, and Caleb smooths his fingers across the lines of looping, scrawling script written across the top of one page, still as dark and as familiar as the day he’d first read them.

_Caleb,_

_Du warst schon immer für uns zauberisch._

_Mutti und Vati._

Caleb,  
You have always been magical to us.  
Mum and Dad.

The silence grows, beckoning Caleb to speak. “They, ah, they gave me this book before I left to go to university,” he says quietly. “They- I had only realised my magic a few years previously and I had hidden it from them for a while. When they found out about it they were- well, they were surprised, but who wouldn’t be? I was worried, but they told- they told me that they didn’t care. That it was just another incredible thing that I could do.” He smiles to himself. Behind his eyes, he remembers watching the amazement and delight in his parents’ faces when he first called fire to his palm. “And I had always liked fairytales, back when I was a child. Mutti told me they found this book in a bookshop a few weeks after they found out about my magic, and she thought it was the perfect gift to take with me when I left home. All these little stories about other people with magic doing incredible things. _Ja_ , it was a little bit childish, but it was nice. It reminded me that I was still their son.”

_Even before we knew you were our son_ , his father had said, _you were still our child, and you still are now._

“It was- it was a very good present,” he continues. “A very good present. We did not have much and so I did not take much with me to university, but I brought this book.” He runs his fingers over the writing again as if following the path of the ink. “It is still one of my favourites…” He trails off, lapsing into silence. For a few long moments, neither of them speak. Caleb continues to trace the ink, eventually shutting the cover of the book and once again running his fingers over the well-loved cloth.

“I’m glad they knew you well,” Molly says quietly, his voice unexpectedly soft and thoughtful. “You have- you strike me as a man who has a lot of hidden depths, Caleb. It would’ve been a shame for those to go unseen, especially by those closest to you.” He glances up, red eyes meeting blue, and gives a small smile. “There’s so much more to you than meets the eye. I’m very glad there are people in your life who know you well enough to see that. You deserve to have people who see that.”

Caleb feels his heart squeeze inside his chest. He wants to- he wants- he wants to _touch_. He wants to take Molly’s hand, or place a hand on his waist, and show him through touch what he cannot through words. He wants to show Molly how much those words mean to him.

How much Molly means to him.

Molly is so close. He’s _so_ close. It would be so, so easy for Caleb to lean forwards, just a little, and press his lips to Molly’s. It would be so easy to rest a hand on Molly’s knee, on his thigh, on his waist, and feel the warmth of his skin against his fingertips. It would be so easy to lean closer, and press their shoulders together, and enjoy that softness and closeness that feels so easy and close at hand whenever Molly is nearby.

It would be so easy.

Caleb swallows and watches as, just for a second, Molly’s eyes dart down to look at his lips.

“Caleb,” Molly says softly. His voice is quiet, as soft as silk and as beautiful as the distant glimmer of starlight. Caleb can feel Molly’s shoulder brushing against his own, can feel the warmth of his legs and the split ends of his tail twining loosely around his ankle in a gentle caress. “Caleb…”

_You cannot have this_ , Caleb reminds himself desperately, but the thought is faint. _You cannot have this, you cannot have this, you cannot_ -

From the hallway, the doorbell chimes.

Caleb jerks his head back, suddenly aware of how he’d been slowly leaning in towards Molly, and glances down at his watch. “Ah,” he says, hearing the faint waver and hoarseness in his voice, “that must, ah, that must be my client.”

Molly gives a short cough. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a little rough. He shifts a little, leaning away from Caleb’s space, and looks over at the far side of the room, his cheeks darker than they had been before. Against the flushed purple skin, the peacock feathers stand out even more brightly than before. “You- yeah. Go do that.”

Caleb nods, standing up jerkily and crossing the room to slip the book of fairytales back into its space on the bookshelf. He can feel the weight of Molly’s eyes on him with every step and they make him feel suffused with warmth, with uncertainty, with _something_. He doesn’t know how to process the tiny, shared moment of intimacy that they just had, and he knows that he doesn’t have the time to.

“I’m going to-” he says, gesturing towards the door, and Molly nods, smiling slightly.

“Go,” he says, “go have your big, fancy, important wizard meeting, Caleb.”

“It is not big or fancy-”

“Caleb.”

“ _Ja_?”

“Go.” Molly smiles a little wider. “Don’t leave your client waiting.”

Caleb smiles back. He can’t help it. “You will be alright?”

“I’ll be fine, _⩙_ _ᗇѨ_ _ᱡ,”_ Molly replies. The Infernal word is not one that Caleb knows but it sounds soft, the syllables of it gentle on Molly’s tongues. He thinks he’d like to hear it again. “I’ve got all these books to read, and Tetris to play. Don’t worry about me.”

“Alright,” Caleb says quietly. He crosses to the door, resting one hand on the doorknob. “…Mollymauk?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

_For talking. For listening. For being so careful with what is important to me_. “For helping,” he says simply, and Molly beams.

“Of course! Now _go_!”

Caleb goes.

He walks briskly down the corridor, taking just a moment to glance over his reflection in the hallway mirror before he applies his glamour. It’s a simple glamour, really – unlike Molly he has no unusual features to hide, and so all the glamour does is shorten and lighten his hair to a dark blonde, change the colour of his eyes, and lessen the stubble around his jaw. He reaches up, opening a small cupboard beside the door, and pulls out a pair of dark-framed glasses, slipping them on.

When he looks back in the mirror again, there’s no hint of Caleb Widogast to be seen. _Perfect_.

Caleb smiles to himself, runs over everything that he will be covering in the meeting, takes hold of the door handle, and twists.

The door swings open.

Standing before Caleb is an older gentleman. He’s dressed very neatly in a dark coat, unusual in the warming spring weather, and beneath it Caleb can see a carefully pressed shirt and immaculately knotted tie. His hair is long and silver, hanging to just above his shoulders, and deep wrinkles line his face. On the lapel of his suit, a pin in the shape of a scarab beetle shines emerald and gold in the sunlight.

Trent Ikithon smiles.

“Hello,” he says. “I’m so glad I found the right place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first piece of art in this chapter was done by the ever-lovely [Grace](https://nonsycamore.tumblr.com/), and the second piece was done by the wonderful [Heidzdraws](https://twitter.com/heidzdraws) on Twitter, who also made a stunning piece for chapter 9 which has now been added to the chapter.
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on March 18th!


	11. Chapter 11

Barely a second passes, but Caleb feels like he’s just re-lived four long, awful years.

Trent. _Trent_.

The face of the man before him is a familiar one, for all that Caleb hasn’t seen it in person for nearly a decade. It’s been a regular fixture of nightmares, of panic attacks, of the worry brewing at the back of his mind every single time he sets foot in magical circles. It’s the face that he never, ever wanted to see again, that he never wanted to see _him_ again, and now it’s staring back at him, smiling politely from just beyond his front door.

He wants to scream. He wants to run. He wants to throw up right then and there; he can already feel his stomach churning, sweat gathering clammy and cold on his skin as Trent continues to stare at him. It’s been almost ten years, but Ikithon looks almost exactly the same as he did the last time Caleb saw him, sitting across a desk from him and calmly telling Caleb his orders. His wrinkles are a little deeper, his hair a little thinner, but his eyes are exactly the same: cold, piercing, and utterly uncaring.

Caleb feels the bile rising in his throat, and he does his best to force it back down.

He can’t react. He _can’t_. Trent doesn’t know who he is – Caleb has no doubts that if he did, he’d be dead already. Trent genuinely seems to believe that Caleb is Liam O’Brien, the friendly and quiet witch with a knack for arcane translations. Caleb knows that his glamour is solid, knows that there is nothing within the dining room to give him away, but he can’t stop the nerves and fear and horrible, saw-sharp panic from running down his spine. He feels moments away from passing out, his ears ringing and his heart racing and he- he _can’t_. He can’t be here, can’t do this.

But he has to.

He has to.

If he does anything now, if he acts even slightly outside of the ordinary, then Trent will know. It’s an absurd belief, this idea that Trent will immediately recognise who he is if he does anything wrong, and he knows it is, but it rings horribly, painfully true all the same. Trent is perceptive, uncomfortably so. He spent years teaching Caleb, training Caleb. He knows Caleb. He knows what Caleb is like, how Caleb acts.

He knows that Caleb ran.

Caleb doesn’t know if Trent’s been looking for him since then, and he doesn’t want to know. It’s bad enough believing it; he can’t even imagine how he would react if he knew for certain. He doesn’t know, and Trent doesn’t know who he is, but all he has to do is keep pretending, and act as if everything is normal, and he’ll be alright.

He’ll be alright.

Before him, Ikithon’s face doesn’t so much fall as it shifts slightly, and Caleb wants to scream. He knows that look. He knows it so well. It’s the look that Trent adopts when he sees something that he views as a minor inconvenience - as something that can be put back on the right track with an exact and precise application of force.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Trent says. “Perhaps I have the wrong house. I was given this address to meet a Mr O’Brien at, but perhaps I remembered it wrong.”

Gods, Caleb wishes that Trent remembered it wrong. He wishes that Trent was at some other poor fool’s house and not standing inside his door, past the boundary of the protective wards that lie sunk into the ground. He’s sure that Trent can feel them, too, and can only hope that he doesn’t recognise them as being Caleb’s work, as being Caleb’s magic. It’s been a long, long time since Trent last encountered Caleb’s magic, but that doesn’t bring Caleb any relief. Trent could still remember the feeling of it.

He certainly has reason to.

He can’t turn Trent away. Not now, when he’s already realised that the man standing before him is a witch, or a wizard, or in some way part of the magic circles. There’s a fair few magical folk out there, but the chance of finding two living so close together, close enough that Trent could get the address wrong, is miniscule. Both of them know this.

Caleb has to let him in.

Inside his own head, Caleb remembers the smell of paper and polish, and the feeling of fire gathering in his hand, and then he pushes them aside and forces his lips to smile.

“Oh, no, no!” he replies, only remembering at the last second to adopt the accent of Liam O’Brien. It makes his words feel strange and clunky but it’s a necessity, now more than ever. _I’m not here_ , he tells himself, _this is not me. This is Liam O’Brien, and he has never met Trent Ikithon before_. “No, you have the right house. I am Liam O’Brien. I take it you are Mr Emeritus?”

A smile crawls across Ikithon’s face. “Ah, indeed,” he replies, holding out a hand. “Tristan Emeritus. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Caleb doesn’t want to take Trent’s hand, but he has to. “A pleasure,” he echoes back, and before he can think too hard about it he reaches out, takes Trent’s hand, and shakes it firmly. _Up, down, release_. The perfect business handshake. He can only hope that Trent couldn’t feel the sweat gathering cold and clammy on his palm.

He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to let Trent into his house, into his space, into his life. He can feel his hidden hand tightening on the doorknob, so close to swinging it shut in Trent’s face and throwing up protective wards and doing everything that he can to keep Trent out, but he can’t do that. He can’t do _any_ of that. To do any of that would give him away, and he is only safe so long as he invisible.

So long as he is unknown.

Caleb swallows, horribly glad that the sweat on his face doesn’t show past the glamour, and steps to one side. “Please,” he says, holding the door wide open. “Do come in. Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” Trent replies, his voice as soft and smooth as a silken noose. “I hope you don’t mind if I make myself comfortable.” _Make yourself comfortable, Caleb,_ Trent had said, that first meeting in his office, when Caleb had been 18 years old and only just starting to truly understand his magic. _Take a seat. Tell me about yourself_.

Looking back now, Caleb wishes that he hadn’t done any of that, but he knows it is far, far too late to change the past. He bites his tongue as Trent walks past him, the feeling of his magic brushing over his skin and the scent of his cologne slipping into his lungs and threatening to make him gag. It smells just as it always did, heavy and thick and as cloying as oil, with a persistence to it that Caleb knows will make his clothes smell of Trent for the next day. Will make _him_ smell of Trent.

He waits until Trent has moved past him before he twists his hand, clears the air around his nose, and takes a quick, deep breath, chasing the smell out of his lungs. This will be alright. This _has_ to be alright.

_I will be alright_ , Caleb tells himself, and he doesn’t believe himself in the slightest.

He takes another breath, giving himself a moment just to settle, and then, before he can convince himself to do something truly stupid like scream, or pass out, or throw up, or grab Trent around the shoulders with his magic and throw him out of his house, he pushes the door shut.

The soft _click_ of the lock catching echoes in the empty hallway. To Caleb’s ears, there is no other sound beyond it.

He glances up, immediately meeting Trent’s eyes, and Trent smiles back at him. “So,” he says, “where are we to have this meeting?”

_This will be alright_ , Caleb tells himself, more desperately. He swallows, wetting his suddenly dry throat, and wills himself to speak. “The- the, ah, the dining room. Through the archway to your left.”

Trent smiles a little wider, turns on his heel, and walks where Caleb indicates. He takes a seat at the table and, even from his position just outside the room, Caleb can see, can recognise the way that his gaze darts over the room, taking in every item as if assessing their value. As if assessing their worth. He remembers that gaze. He remembers what it had felt like to have that gaze settling on him.

“Now then,” Trent says. He clasps his hands together on the table and smiles at Caleb as Caleb approaches the table, every inch the professional wizard. “I believe you said you had finished my translation, Mr O’Brien.” Beneath the light shining down from overhead, the beetle pin clinging to his lapel shines like an oil spill.

Caleb swallows, sits, and reaches for the tome in question with fingers that are only just stable. “Yes,” he says, and flips it open. “Yes, I have.”

\---

“You’ve done some excellent work here,” Trent says an hour or so later, when Caleb has, by some miracle, managed to keep up the pretense of _not_ being on the edge of a panic attack for the entire time that they’ve been speaking. Trent’s thumbing through the finished text, apparently satisfied with Caleb’s explanations and answers to his questions, and Caleb can’t imagine the meeting going on for much longer.

Then again, he can’t imagine much at all outside of what might happen if Trent were to realise who he is.

He shrugs. “Well, Mr Emeritus, I tried my best.”

“You didn’t try: you _did_ ,” Trent corrects absently, his fingers still brushing over the pages. “That’s what I always say, Mr O’Brien. _Do or don’t do, there is no try_.” He looks up at Caleb, smiling sharply. “I understand it’s not quite the original quote, but I feel it flows better, wouldn’t you say?”

_Do or don’t do, Caleb. Did you do as I asked?_

_No, but-_

_So you did not do it._

_No, but I tried._

_There is no try, Caleb. You didn’t do it._

_I am still learning, Professor Ikithon. I am- I will get there. I promise._

_But you did not do it, Caleb. You told me that you would, and then you didn’t. There is no try, Caleb. Only results matter. Wouldn’t you agree?_

_…_

_Wouldn’t you agree, Caleb?_

_…Ja._

_Good boy. Now go back, and do it._

Behind Caleb’s eyes, three years of control and conversation flash through his mind in a heartbeat. The memories pick up every thought in his head, swarming over them in a cloud of static until there is only one that remains: _I have to get out_.

“Mr O’Brien?” Trent asks, his tone politely concerned. Over the rushing, roaring buzzing in his ears, Caleb can barely hear him. “Are you quite alright? You’ve gone rather pale.”

“Fine,” Caleb murmurs. He pushes his chair back and stands up, feeling his stomach start to churn as more memories slip through his mind.

_You said if I did it then I could take a break, Professor Ikithon._

_I never said that, Caleb. When did I say that?_

_Just last week, you said it, I am sure of it._

_Hm, I have no recollection of that. Are you sure?_

_Ja._

_Perhaps you are getting confused, dear boy. I said no breaks until the end of term, remember?_

_I- no, I don’t- my memory is perfect-_

_All memories are fallible, Caleb, even yours. You must have misremembered. But that is quite alright. Keep working at it, and see me again next week._

_But you_ said-

_Caleb. You are misremembering_.

“I-” Caleb says, and it’s only at the last second that he remembers to use Liam O’Brien’s accent and not his own. “I am- I’m sorry, Mr Emeritus, may you excuse me for a few moments?”

“Of course. Are you feeling alright?”

“Just dizzy,” he says, the words leaving him automatically. “I have not been quite well recently, I’m afraid.”

_I’m sorry, sir, I was ill last week-_

_Do or do not, Caleb. Which one was it?_

_…Do not._

_And what does not exist?_

_Trying._

_Good. Next time I see you, I expect you to have done it. Do not put this off any longer, Caleb, or I will be most disappointed in you. You are being unprofessional._

“I must apologise. This is most unprofessional of me,” he adds, moving towards the archway. He feels awful, his skin clammy and cold for all that his blood is boiling hot, and with every second that passes the roaring in his ears gets louder. _Get out. Get out. Get out_. “I will- just a few minutes. I apologise.”

“Oh, of course. Take your time.”

“Thank you,” Caleb forces himself to say, and then he turns on his heel, walking briskly enough that the shaking coursing through his body cannot be seen, and makes his way to his office. He pushes open the door, feeling his glamour fizzle and drop the moment it starts to swing shut behind him, and past the tears and memories clouding his vision he can just about make out Mollymauk sitting relaxed and comfortable on the window seat.

Molly’s got his jacket on now, and the pattern of it is so bright and garish and so wonderfully, entirely familiar that Caleb almost wants to cry. No, scratch that: he _does_ cry, the moment the door shuts behind him with a _click_ as soft and as sharp as an executioner’s axe. He feels the sob climbing through his throat, compounded fear and panic forcing it out of his lungs faster than he can think to bury it in his hands, and the moment it escapes him Molly’s head jerks up from the tablet in his hands and turns to look at Caleb.

“Caleb?” he asks. His voice is soft, gentle and concerned, and for a moment Caleb thinks that he can feel it, wrapping around his shoulders like an embrace. “What’s- are you alright?”

Caleb shakes his head, brushing the tears away from his eyes with the back of one shaking hand. There’s no point in lying. Not now. “I’m-” he starts, and it’s as far as he gets before his words get interrupted by another sob, followed by a shaking, rattling breath. Fuck. _Fuck_. He tries to pull in a breath, feeling it catch in his throat, and he curls his hands into fists at his side, pressing his nails into the palms of his hands so hard he thinks he might draw blood. The pain is sharp, catching on his brain, but it’s not enough, he still can’t focus, can’t _think_ , and he can’t- he still can’t fucking _breathe_. He can’t get enough air into his lungs and he feels _dizzy_ , like the world is swaying around him, his ears ringing and his skin freezing cold and burning hot and he can’t fucking _breathe_ , why can’t he breathe? His lungs are weak and shitty and useless and all he can see is Molly’s awful, ugly, wonderful jacket, shining at him like a lighthouse beacon, like a promise of safety, but to go to it would almost certainly make him collapse.

Gods, but he wants to go to Molly.

“Caleb?” Molly asks again, but his voice sounds distant now, fuzzy and warped like it’s been twisted through static. Caleb blinks hard, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, but when he opens his eyes nothing is any better. He still can’t see, and he still can’t think, and he still can’t fucking breathe. It feels like there are brambles wrapped around his lungs, squeezing and constricting until every breath _hurts_ , but he knows that he has to say something. He doesn’t want Molly to worry. He doesn’t want Molly to be upset.

Caleb opens his mouth, and has no idea what he’s going to say. “That man,” he says haltingly, tripping over words made clunky with tears and fear, “he is- he- I _know_ him, Mollymauk, he is not a good man, he- I-”

“Hey,” Molly says, his voice noticeably concerned now. He sits up from the window seat, dropping the tablet carelessly to one side as he walks quickly over to Caleb and reaches out to take hold of his shoulders. Caleb flinches but he doesn’t pull away, and when Molly meets his eyes, giving him a concerned look, he glances at Molly’s hands and nods. _This is okay._ “Hey,” Molly says again, softer. “Hey, Caleb, it’s- you’re going to be alright, okay? You’re alright.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Caleb manages to bite out. He can feel himself trembling now, his heart pounding in his ears and his breath coming shorter the longer he thinks about the man left unguarded in his dining room, in his _house_. “I am- _Scheiße_ , Mollymauk, _Ich bin_ \- I’m- _Molly-_ ” He leans forwards, unthinking, and between one breath and the next he feels himself half-collapse into Molly’s arms. He hears Molly make a small, surprised sound, but he can’t process it. He can’t comprehend it. He just turns his head, hiding his face against Molly’s shoulder and neck as if trying to block out the world, and feels his tears soaking into the fabric of his jacket. “I _can’t_ go out there,” he says. The words are quiet, muffled by Molly’s shoulder, but Molly hears them all the same. “I- I can’t, Mollymauk, I can’t, I can’t, I cannot- I- I _can’t_ -”

“Hey,” Molly says again. “Hey, hey, okay, just- breathe, alright? Come on, Caleb.” He leans back a little, moving his hands to run them down Caleb’s arms. The touch is gentle, light enough that Caleb could easily push it away if he wanted, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to push Molly away. He wants to stay like this, hidden from the world by Molly’s jacket and made safe by Molly’s touch. Molly rubs Caleb’s arms gently, carefully, and every touch is grounding. “Come on,” Molly repeats. “Breathe with me, alright? Just for a while, love.” He breathes in slowly, his tail wrapping close and protective around Caleb’s ankle, and then exhales. “Come on, Caleb. Breathe in, nice and slow. You can do this.”

Caleb squeezes his eyes shut. He can feel Molly’s chest moving with every inhale, can feel how his own breath is still catching in his lungs, making his head spin and his stomach churn, but after Molly does a few more long, steady inhales and exhales, he manages to force his lungs into joining him. He breathes in, barely managing to inhale for more than half a second before another weak, pathetic sob forces the air from his throat, but Molly only runs a hand up and down his back, murmuring soft encouragement in his ear until he breathes again. And again. And again after that, each one getting easier until Caleb no longer needs Molly to guide him.

He doesn’t move away, though. He can’t bring himself to.

He also doesn’t want to annoy Molly. He knows that he likes Molly, and he knows that Molly doesn’t seem to mind spending time with him, but this is… this is different. This is something that only Nott and Beau have seen before, and Nott’s the only one who’s ever seen it as bad as this. This is personal, and private, and uncomfortable, and awful.

And yet, despite all of that, Caleb doesn’t feel bad that Molly saw.

He can trust Molly.

He can trust Molly, who’s still stroking a hand along his back, holding him close and safe against his front. Molly seems to realise that Caleb’s calmed down somewhat but he doesn’t stop holding him, his arms still heavy and warm around Caleb’s back. “You alright?” he asks quietly, a few moments later. “You gave me a bit of a fright there, darling.”

Caleb shrugs, making a small, uncertain sound. He doesn’t want to move away but he forces himself to, leaning back so that he can look at Molly. The moment he starts to move he feels Molly’s arms loosen around him, giving him the space and freedom that he needs, and he tries not to make it apparent how much he immediately misses the contact.

“I’m-” he starts and then stops himself, because he’s not alright. He doesn’t want to lie to Molly. “I am- I-… _ja_ , I am better.”

“Better still isn’t alright,” Molly replies. “But it’s an improvement. You look less like you’re going to pass out on me now.”

Caleb feels himself mustering a weak smile. He doesn’t know if he looks it, but he does feel a little better. He feels less like he’s on the edge of shattering, of breaking into a thousand pieces and losing himself to memories of ten years ago. “I do not think I am going to pass out.”

“Good to know.” Molly lifts his arms, patting Caleb reassuringly on the shoulder. “Now, are you going to tell me what that was all about?”

Almost immediately, Caleb feels his throat seize up. “I-,” he starts, forcing the words out, “I- that man… I know him. He is- I couldn’t- I couldn’t face him. And I know that that is weak of me because I haven’t seen him for ten years, but I- I _couldn’t_ -”

“It’s not weak,” Molly interrupts. Caleb glances at him and Molly catches his gaze, all six eyes warm and red and entirely honest. “We don’t have the time to discuss it right now but having a reaction like that doesn’t make you weak.”

Caleb huffs a small laugh, looking away. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Molly replies firmly. “Yes, it is. You’re not a weak man, Caleb. I know this.”

“I _feel_ weak...”

“That’s different from being weak, darling. I feel like I’m charming but that doesn’t mean that I am, as I’m sure Beau will agree. She probably thinks that I’m obnoxious, and she _might_ be right, but just because she feels that I’m annoying doesn’t mean that I am for certain. And this, Caleb… this isn’t weakness.”

“Then what is it?”

“Self preservation, if I had to hazard a guess. I don’t know your history with that man, but I know a panic attack when I see one. No offense, darling, but you looked like shit.”

Caleb actually laughs at that, just a little. He lifts a hand, scrubbing away some tears from the corners of his eyes, and gives a small shrug. “ _Ja_ , well, I am afraid I had no control over that, Mollymauk. I was… it was not a very good situation for me.”

“I gathered that. And Caleb, love?”

Caleb looks back up at Molly. “Mm?”

“You’re going to be okay,” Molly says softly, and every word is a promise. “I mean it. You’re going to be okay. I’m going to keep you safe.”

Caleb feels his smile turn wry. _You can’t_ , he wants to say. _You cannot fix this, Mollymauk. This is too old for you to fix. You cannot make this okay_.

_You cannot face him_.

But he doesn’t say any of that. He can’t. He looks at Molly and Molly looks back, his expression almost unreadable. “Oh, Caleb,” Molly says softly. “ _⩙_ _ᗇѨ_ _ᱡ’_ _ᗖᖨ._ ” The Infernal is soft on his tongue, the sound of it comforting for all that Caleb cannot understand what Molly is saying. There’s a beat of silence, Molly’s eyes still gazing into his own, and then there’s a shift, a flicker of motion, and Caleb feels Molly’s lips press to his forehead in a kiss.

“You’re going to be alright,” he continues, his voice so soft and gentle that Caleb feels another tear run down his cheek. “You’re going to be alright, Caleb. You’re safe here.”

“I have to go back out-”

“No,” Molly interrupts. He shifts a little, looking down at Caleb, and Caleb watches as his expression changes slightly. “No, Caleb, you don’t.”

Caleb swallows. “But,” he says, “the- the meeting- it has been too long already, I have to-”

“You don’t,” Molly repeats. “You don’t, Caleb. Not if you don’t want to.” Caleb can hear the unspoken words, can read them in Molly’s face: _not if you can’t_. “Liam O’Brien has to go back out, but he doesn’t have to be you.” There’s a pause, in which Caleb frowns at Molly in confusion, and then Molly continues. “I have glamours as well, Caleb.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

“Molly,” Caleb says immediately, and he’s not sure if it’s relief or fear in his voice. “Molly, you- you cannot-”

“I can,” Molly says, “if you’re alright with me doing it.” He pauses, glancing away, but when he speaks again his words are certain. “I don’t- I don’t like seeing you upset, Caleb. I really don’t. And it’s clear that whoever it is who’s in the dining room right now makes you very, very upset and panicked. And I don’t- I don’t want you to be upset. So. I could- if need be, I could take over.” He looks back at Caleb, smiling faintly. “I’m a very good faker, Caleb. I can do this.”

Caleb swallows. It’s a tempting offer, he can’t deny it – even the thought of returning to the dining room, of having to see Trent again, and hear his voice, and sit still and polite and proper under his crawling gaze makes him want to hurl. But at the same time… at the same time, it’s dangerous. It’s horribly, terribly dangerous. He’s not Molly, and Molly isn’t him, and Trent is a far smarter, more cunning man than Caleb could ever hope to be. Molly could say something wrong, or do something wrong, and then Trent would notice and- and Caleb doesn’t even want to think further than that. It’s dangerous, and he doesn’t want Molly to be put in danger.

But he trusts him.

He knows that Molly wouldn’t be offering if he didn’t genuinely think himself capable.

“Caleb,” Molly says, his voice entirely serious. “Do you want me to take over?”

There’s a long, awful pause.

“…Yes,” Caleb whispers.

“Alright then.” Molly shrugs out of his jacket, swinging it around Caleb’s shoulders. Caleb grabs it without even thinking, holding the fabric tight around his body and burrowing down into it as if trying to lose himself inside it. He is, in a way. The jacket is much, much softer than he thought it would be and the whole thing smells of Molly, of spice and incense and heat, and it’s comforting. He watches in silence as Molly approaches the door, feeling Molly’s scent settle deep in his lungs.

“What’s his name?” Molly asks, pausing by the door.

“Trent,” Caleb says. He can hear the waver in his own voice. “Trent, ah, Ikithon.”

“Trent,” Molly repeats quietly. “Alright, I can do that.”

“Although he is, um, he is to be called Tristan Emeritus. Or Mr Emeritus,” Caleb adds, abruptly remembering. “He is- he does not know that I know who he is.”

“I’m assuming that he doesn’t know who you are?”

“ _Ja_.”

“And that you want to keep it that way?”

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb says again. He can feel his own voice on the very edge of breaking. “Please- please do not let him know that I am here. Please, Mollymauk.”

“I won’t,” Molly replies immediately. “I promise, Caleb.” He reaches out, fingers wrapping around the door knob, and Caleb’s gaze drops to Molly’s wrist.

_Scheisse_.

“Molly!” Caleb calls out abruptly.

Molly pauses, one hand still on the door knob. “Yeah?”

“Your bracelet!”

Molly glances down at it. “What about it?” he asks.

“You- it- I don’t have one of those.”

“So?”

“You cannot cast a glamour over it. The containment spell will not let you. And you cannot- Trent will notice if you leave it on. I know he will.”

“What are you suggesting?” Molly asks cautiously.

Caleb swallows. “I will… let me take it off.”

In the sudden silence of the room, Caleb hears Molly’s intake of breath. Molly knows what this means. They _both_ know what this means. For a month now this bracelet has been the only thing keeping Molly’s powers contained, making him safe enough to exist in the material plane. To remove it would be the same as breaking the salt circle containment of a demon – it would be setting him loose, setting him free, and having no guarantee of being able to stop him should he decide to wreak havoc.

With slow, uncertain steps, Molly approaches Caleb. He doesn’t say anything, but Caleb feels like he can read Molly’s thoughts from the expression on his face alone: _are you sure about this?_

_No_ , Caleb thinks to himself, and immediately on the tail of that thought is another one, louder and more certain. _Yes. Yes, I am_. He shrugs off Molly’s jacket, placing it down on the window seat, and then with careful, shaking hands, he reaches out and unties the bracelet from around Molly’s wrist.

With little ceremony the twine falls slack. Caleb takes it, twisting it around his finger, and then presses the twisted strands against the palm of his hand.

“Thank you,” Molly says quietly. He turns his hand, capturing Caleb’s with his own, and squeezes. To Caleb, still caught on the cusp of panic, it feels like a lifeline. Molly leans in, pressing another kiss to Caleb’s forehead. “You’ll be alright,” he murmurs, “I promise.”

“Twist your tail?” Caleb hears himself asking.

“Cross my heart.” Molly leans back, his eyes serious. “Trust me, Caleb. You’ll be okay.”

_I do trust you_ , Caleb wants to say, but he bites the words back. He squeezes Molly’s hand again, feeling Molly’s tail twining around his ankle, and runs his thumb over the woven pattern of the bracelet held in his other hand. “Okay,” he says quietly. “I- okay.”

“You going to be alright on your own?”

“I- _ja_.”

“Okay. I’ll be back soon.” Molly squeezes his hand one more time before dropping it, walking over to the door of the office.

“Molly?” Caleb calls suddenly. Molly looks back, a frown creasing his forehead even as his glamour settles around him.

“Yeah?”

“…Be safe.”

Molly smiles. “I will,” he says, promise and truth woven throughout his words, and then he opens the door, slips out, and shuts it behind him.

\---

Somehow, _somehow_ , Molly manages to fake his way through the meeting with Trent. He’s not entirely sure of what Caleb has already covered with him but he’s heard Caleb communicating with clients over the phone and the internet, and he has a decent idea of what to do. He sits down, turning his charm all the way up to maximum before remembering that he’s now Liam O’Brien, nerdy witch, and then dials it back down a bit. He cold-reads Trent as best he can. He tries to remember anything that Caleb ever told him about magic.

The entire time he’s speaking, he’s painfully, horribly aware of the cutting coldness in Trent’s eyes.

_I see you_ , it seems to say. _I know what you’re doing_.

Molly doesn’t let it get to him. Trent is unsettling, in a strange, impossible-to-pin-down kind of way, but he’s not actually the worst thing that Molly’s ever faced down. After all, Molly’s lived in the Hells for his entire remembered life. He’s charmed his way out of problems with chain devils, even when he was _blatantly_ in the wrong. He can do this.

He can do this for Caleb.

But that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. With every second that passes he feels himself growing more and more nervous, the feeling that at any moment Trent is going to catch him out rising at the back of his throat like bile. He keeps himself smiling, maintains the soft accent that he’s heard Caleb use while in glamour, and carefully, _carefully_ edges the meeting on until, finally, he feels like he can end it.

“Well,” Molly says, smiling brightly as he clasps his hands together on the table. “I believe that is our business concluded, Mr Emeritus. Unless you have any other questions?”

“I believe you answered all of my questions earlier,” Trent replies, smiling back. It’s an unpleasant smile, thin and sharp like the edge of a razor. He rises from the table, tugging his coat closer around his body, and then holds out a hand to Molly as Molly also stands. “Thank you for all of your work.”

Molly looks down and then back up. Trent doesn’t know who he is. Trent doesn’t know _what_ he is.

Molly smiles, the first truly genuine one in this entire meeting, and then takes Trent’s hand and shakes it. Against his palm he can feel the itch of Trent’s magic, pressing against his skin like the legs of a thousand tiny beetles, and, just for a moment, he is so horribly, _wonderfully_ tempted.

He’s a demon, unfettered and unconstrained on the material plane. There is no bracelet around his wrist binding his magic now; there’s no restrictions on what he could do. He knows Trent’s name, and he can feel Trent’s magic, and now he has Trent’s hand grasped in his own, their palms touching and his own magic shifting just beneath the surface of his skin, heavy, and as old as the Hells, and _angry_.

He doesn’t know what Trent did, but he doesn’t need to. He knows that Trent made Caleb cry. He knows that Trent made Caleb panic. He knows that Trent made Caleb, the man with magic in his blood and certainty in his spine, collapse and shake and tremble with tears in his eyes and fear threatening to overtake him.

Molly’s gaze flits down, just for a moment, and rests at the join of his hand with Trent’s.

A handshake.

A name.

There is so, so much that Molly could do. There are reasons why, even now, humans speak of demons with fear.

In a split second, every ability that he knows he has runs through his mind’s eye; he thinks over the enchantments, and the hexes, and the banes and blood curses and ancient maledicts that he could strike Trent with. He thinks about pacts. He thinks about possession.

He thinks about how perfectly, _wonderfully_ easy it would be to slip his magic beneath Trent’s skin, and wind it around his nerves and through his veins, and tug his aortas shut from the inside.

And then he thinks of Caleb, and feels every idea leave him.

He can’t. He can’t do any of that. From what he’s gathered from Caleb, Trent is _powerful_ , far more than Caleb is, and Molly knows the limitations of his own power. If he were to get something wrong, if he were to attempt to hex Trent only to find that his magic could not best the wizard’s, then Trent would know, and they would both be in danger.

Caleb would be in danger, he realises, and feels something cold run down his spine.

There is so much that he can do.

And he will not do any of it.

“A pleasure,” he says, and then he lets go of Trent’s hand and steps away. “Let me walk you to the door.” _Let me know that you have left_.

“Of course,” Trent replies. Molly smiles a little wider, gesturing towards the archway into the hallway, and after a single, horrible second, Trent starts to move.

“By the way,” Trent says, just as Molly is holding the door open for him, hoping beyond hope that the man will just shut up and _leave_ , “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of someone I’m looking for? He’s an old… friend of mine, but we lost touch a while ago. He’s a powerful witch – I was hoping that someone might know him and point me towards him.”

Molly musters a smile. “Oh,” he says, “well, I don’t know. I’m not that connected in the magical community. I can’t make any promises.” He doesn’t _want_ to make any promises. Not to this man. Not to this man who had reduced Caleb to fucking _tears_ just from seeing him. Molly doesn’t even want to have to interact with him but he will because he has to. Because Caleb needs him to.

Across from him Trent smiles, slow and slippery like the spread of oil. “Are you not? Strange. You seemed so well-connected when we spoke earlier.”

“Ah,” Molly says, hurrying to cover himself, “but friends are so different from clients, are they not?”

“Hm. They are,” Trent admits. “And this friend of mine… he has a tendency to be quiet. You likely will not know him, but I figure it is always worth asking.” His smile grows a little. Molly wants to punch it off his face. “He’s about your height, shoulder-length auburn hair, or at least that’s what it was when I last saw it. Blue eyes. Name of Caleb Widogast?”

_Fuck_.

Molly’s stomach churns. He knew, he _knew_ that Caleb and this man had a history, that much was immediately obvious, but this is- this- this explains so much. This explains how cautious Caleb is when he’s out in public. This explains why he was so vocally against Molly buying his jacket. This explains the fake name, and the glamour, and everything else. This man, this _Trent_ , is looking for Caleb. Molly doesn’t know why, doesn’t know what dwells in their shared past, but he’s sure that, whatever it is, it’s far from pleasant.

He can’t give Caleb up. He _won’t_ give Caleb up. He cares for Caleb, so much more than he wants to admit, and he could never, ever betray him like this. Not now. Not when Caleb had shown his own trust by following Molly’s suggestions and letting Molly take his place in the meeting, and by removing the twine bracelet from Molly’s wrist.

He can feel his hand straying to rub at where the bracelet once lay and forces it to stay still. He can’t give anything away. He keeps his smile in place as best he can, shaking his head and trying to school his features into an expression of regretful disappointment.

“Sorry,” he says, “name doesn’t ring a bell, I’m afraid.”

Trent hums. The sound feels like a cheese grater against Molly’s nerves. “Pity,” he muses, doing up the final button of his coat. On his lapel, the beetle pin shines like bile. “That _is_ a shame. Well, if you do encounter him, please don’t hesitate to get in touch.”

“Of course,” Molly replies. He smiles wider, feeling like his face might crack from it, and holds the door even further open. “Well, it was a pleasure working with you, Mr- Mr Emeritus. I’m so glad you’re satisfied with my work.”

“It was exemplary,” Trent acknowledges. He steps through the door – _finally_ , Molly thinks – and then turns, just as Molly is starting to push the door shut. “You know,” he says, “I _am_ rather surprised that you haven’t encountered my friend. He really was very skilled in much the same areas you are.”

“Perhaps he’s in a different city,” Molly suggests. _Leave, leave, just GO AWAY_. “Good afternoon, Mr Emeritus.”

Trent smiles. “Good afternoon,” he replies. He turns on his heel, walking down the street, and Molly waits a few seconds longer before shutting the door with a definitive _click_.

He stands in the hallway for a few more minutes, until he’s definite that Trent is out of eyeline, before he lets his glamour finally fizzle and drop.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck. _Fuck_.”

“Is he gone?” asks a quiet voice from behind him. _Caleb_. Molly turns around, shocked to see Caleb standing uncomfortably to one side, shifting from foot to foot. He’s still wrapped up in Molly’s jacket, his hands deep in the pockets and the collar turned up as if he’s trying to hide in it, and he looks like absolute shit. His face is pale, wan and haggard-looking, and even at this distance, Molly can see that he’s shaking.

He swallows. “Yeah,” he says, only now speaking in his own accent again. “Yeah, he’s- he’s gone.”

“You’re sure?” Caleb steps closer, feet almost soundless against the floor. “He is definitely gone? He’s not outside?”

“I’ve been looking out of the little window in the door for the last few minutes, Caleb,” Molly says reassuringly. Caleb moves closer, leaning a little to one side to peer worriedly through the aforementioned window, and Molly quietly moves aside to give him a better look. “You see? He’s gone.”

Caleb looks for a little while longer, blue eyes sharp and edged with fear. “Oh,” he says eventually, the word murmured.

Molly frowns. “Caleb?” he asks. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Caleb mumbles. He steps back from the door, swaying slightly in place, and frees a hand from the pocket of Molly’s jacket to scrub it roughly across his eyes. “I am- _ja_ , I am, I am fine, I am fine, he is- he’s gone, I am fine-”

He doesn’t sound fine. He sounds awful.

“Caleb,” Molly murmurs. He steps forwards and lifts his arms, wrapping them around Caleb’s form without thinking, and Caleb freezes for a moment before falling limp. He sags against Molly’s front, trembling violently as he presses his face to Molly’s neck with a muffled sob.

It breaks Molly’s heart.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “hey, hey, Caleb…” His hands flutter uselessly, eventually settling with one rubbing soothingly over Caleb’s spine as the other cradles the back of his head, holding him close against Molly’s body. He can feel Caleb’s magic brushing up against his skin, soft and warm and so, so much nicer than Trent’s.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb whispers, the words half-muffled against Molly’s skin.

“It’s alright,” Molly replies. “Don’t worry about this. Do you want to sit down-”

“I should never have put you in front of him.”

Molly frowns. That’s a strange thing to say. “Caleb,” he says, “love. It was my idea.”

“I should have stopped you. It was- it was _dangerous_.”

“Hey,” Molly says, trying to ignore how those last few words have set his heart to racing. _Caleb doesn’t want me to be in danger. Caleb wants me to be safe_. It’s nice to know, but it doesn’t mean that Caleb cares for him. It doesn’t mean that Caleb likes him the same way that he likes Caleb, and he does his best to remind himself of that. He leans back a little, gently taking Caleb’s head in his hands and brushing his thumbs over tear-tracks made sticky with salt. “Caleb. It’s alright. You’re alright. We’re both alright. Whoever that man- Trent- whoever he is, he’s gone now.”

“But he’ll be back,” Caleb whispers.

“Then we’ll send him away again.”

“But-”

“Caleb,” Molly says softly, cutting Caleb off short. The witch falls silent, glancing away as Molly moves his hands down to rest them on Caleb’s shoulders. Beneath the fabric of his jacket, he can feel Caleb trembling. “We took care of him this time, yeah? And if he comes back then we’ll do it again. We can let Nott and Beau know, and maybe they can start staying for meetings instead of leaving so that you have some reassurance. How does that sound?”

Caleb swallows. “ _Gut_ ,” he says quietly. “Um, really good, _ja_.” He blinks, and Molly can see tears clinging to his lashes like crystals. The sight of them breaks his heart.

“Caleb,” he says, his voice soft. “I don’t- I’m not going to force you to say anything, and you don’t have to say anything that you don’t want to, and all of that, but… if you want to talk about this, or about Trent, then know that I’m here to listen, okay? If you want comfort, or reassurance, or whatever, just let me know, and I’ll do what I can.” He pauses, unsure if what he wants to say is too much, is too _obvious_ , but he only has to look at Caleb’s face to make up his mind. Caleb looks awful, like he’s still only a handful of seconds away from throwing up or passing out, and Molly hates it. He wants to see Caleb happy. He wants to see Caleb smile again.

He swallows.

“I really want you to be alright,” he says quietly, and Caleb’s eyes flick up to meet his, puffy and red and piercing blue. “I- I really care about you, Caleb.” _More than you know. More than you can imagine_. “I didn’t- I don’t like seeing you upset.” Before he can stop himself he leans in, pressing another kiss to Caleb’s forehead. “Do you want to go sit down?” he murmurs, and feels Caleb nodding beneath his lips. “Alright.” He steps back, and before he can even think to reach for Caleb’s hand Caleb is reaching out to take his, fingers cold and clammy but firm in their grip. Molly starts a little, surprised, and Caleb immediately lets go.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, stepping back. He glances away, sticking his hands back into the jacket pockets. “I am- sorry, Mollymauk, I did not- I did not think, I should have asked-”

“It’s alright,” Molly says quickly, stepping forwards. Caleb looks at him, and the expression on his face is so soft and uncertain and horribly, achingly painful that Molly wants to fucking _cry_. No one should look that hopeful. Not for something as simple as hand-holding. Not after what just happened. “It’s alright,” he says again, more quietly this time, and he holds out his hand to Caleb. It hovers in the space between them, an unspoken offer.

Caleb looks at it.

He looks at Molly.

And then he takes a small step forwards, frees a hand from the pocket, and takes hold of Molly’s hand.

“Thank you,” he mutters, the words practically inaudible.

“Of course. I wasn’t just going to leave you alone, love.”

Caleb doesn’t say anything – he just nods and gives Molly a long, slow look. It’s a considering one, mostly, but there’s something to it that Molly can’t identify. He doesn’t try to identify it, though. Not now. Not when Caleb is still so pale and shaking, looking like he might collapse at any moment.

Molly squeezes Caleb’s hand. “Okay,” he says softly. “Come on. Let’s sit you down.” He takes a few steps, just enough to check that Caleb is following along with him, and then leads Caleb down the hallway to the living room. He doesn’t miss how Caleb’s eyes dart to the open archway into the dining room, resting on the books still laid out on the table, but Molly quickly hurries him past it and soon they’re both sitting comfortably on the couches of the living room, Caleb leaning heavily against his side.

“Comfy?” Molly asks before he can stop himself, but Caleb replies with a short nod and the smallest, weakest smile that Molly’s ever seen.

“ _Ja_ ,” he says quietly. “ _Ja_ , I am… I am comfortable. Is this- is this alright for you, Mollymauk? I did not ask, I’m sorry-”

“This is fine,” Molly interrupts quickly, flashing Caleb a smile when Caleb glances at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Really, Caleb. Don’t worry about it.” _Let me worry about you_. Caleb looks a little better, but he still looks bad. He’s no longer trembling but he looks exhausted, his eyes puffy and tired and his face drained of energy. He’s a far cry from the efficient, organised, collected Caleb of earlier, and Molly hates it. He hates seeing Caleb like this.

He hates Trent Ikithon for doing this to him.

“Caleb?” he asks quietly. “Who was that man?”

Caleb draws in a breath, and Molly can hear it rattling around in his lungs. “That was Trent Ikithon,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, “and I have been hiding from him for the last ten years.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art of Molly and Caleb in this chapter was done by [heidzdraws](https://twitter.com/heidzdraws) on twitter, and the gif was done by [amothboy](http://amothboy.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and twitter! New art by [amothboy](http://amothboy.tumblr.com/) has also been added to [chapter 9](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16826527/chapters/42305018)!
> 
> The next chapter will be going up on March 27th! (Which, fun fact, is the same day that my universtiy dissertation is due!)


	12. Chapter 12

It is soft and quiet, here in the living room. It is a space that Caleb has experienced for several years now and every part of it is familiar to him – he knows where all the movies fit on the shelves, constantly being reorganised by Nott to fit with her ever-evolving filing system. He knows which armchair is the best to curl up in to read, perfectly positioned just close enough to the radiator to be comfortably warm without being stifling. He knows which couch to move to see the fist-sized dent that Beau accidentally left in the wall not too long after they all moved in together.

He knows this room. He knows the colour of the walls, and the pattern of the rug, and every single one of the ridiculous novelty cat cushions. He knows all of it.

But, right now, it is not the room that he sees.

Behind his eyes, in the shadows of his skull, he sees Trent Ikithon’s office. It is a neat room, a pleasant room; the blinds hang open, letting soft autumn sunlight in to paint across the professor’s desk, and the countless sheets of paper and endless books are stacked and organised neatly. Dust drifts in the air, settling on the small crystals that would appear, to any normal observer, to be little more than decorative pieces and paperweights. They range in colour and shape, from dull amber shards the size of a key to large, soft blue pieces the size of Caleb’s fist, and they’re pretty. They look nice.

In Caleb’s eyes, they hum with magic.

In Caleb’s eyes, they sing with blood.

“Caleb?” says a voice, and Caleb blinks. He is not in Trent’s office. He is not at university. He is safe and sound in his home, pressed up against Molly’s side with Molly’s tail entwined around his ankle.

“Sorry,” he mutters, shaking his head. He lifts a hand, brushing it against his eyes, and it comes away damp with tears. “I am- I was- I’m sorry, Mollymauk.”

“It’s alright,” Molly says. Caleb looks over at him, reading the expression on his face in a flash – there’s curiosity there, yes, but it’s almost entirely masked by the concern shining in his eyes. Molly catches his eye, giving him a small smile, and shifts a little to better face him. “You don’t- you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to, Caleb. I know I’m a nosy bastard, but if you feel like I’m prying, or like you don’t want to say anything, that’s fine.”

Caleb gives a small, weak smile. He doesn’t know what he wants to say. He doesn’t know what he wants to know. He just knows that he can already feel the words lining up on his tongue, uncertain, and incomplete, and waiting. “It’s alright,” he says quietly. “I want you to know.”

Molly’s eyes widen. “You- really?”

“ _Ja_.” He does. He doesn’t know why he wants Molly to know, but he does. He doesn’t want to hide this. Not after what Molly just saw.

And besides, he rationalises to himself, pushing down the softer feelings hiding behind his ribs, it’s sensible. If Trent realises that he has been deceived then it is better for Molly to know who he is and what he is capable of. This is logical. This is sensible.

This has nothing at all to do with how, in Molly’s presence, Caleb feels safe. It has nothing to do with the touch of Molly’s tail around his ankle, of the warmth of Molly’s body against his side. It has nothing to do with that at all.

“I want- I should tell you who that man was,” Caleb continues quietly. He doesn’t look at Molly. He can’t. “In case- if he returns, it is better for you to know. So that you can be prepared.”

“Right,” Molly says, his voice quiet. “I- yeah, okay, sure. That makes sense.” There’s a pause. “You said his name was Trent Ikithon, right?”

“ _Ja_.”

“And you knew him a long time ago?”

Caleb swallows. “ _Ja_.”

“How did- how did you know him?”

Caleb draws in a slow, deep breath, feeling it rattling around in his lungs. “He was my teacher,” he says quietly. “He was- he was my academic advisor when I was at university.”

“How long ago was that?” Molly asks, his voice soft.

“About twelve years ago,” Caleb replies. Behind his eyes, he watches the years settle like ash. Even now, he can remember the path to Trent’s office. Even now, he can remember the shape of the magic pressed into the door. “He was- he was not my advisor when I first went to university, you see. My advisor was someone else, but only for the first semester. I do not- I did not understand, at first, why my advisor had suddenly changed, but Professor Ikithon very quickly made it apparent why I had been, ah, _transferred_.”

He doesn’t feel like he has to elaborate – Molly is smart, smarter than he likes to let on, and Caleb barely has to wait a second before he sees Molly nodding slowly from the corner of his eyes. “Magic,” Molly murmurs, and Caleb gives a small, wry smile.

“ _Ja_ ,” he confirms. “Magic.”

“Did you know him before-” Molly starts, but Caleb’s quick to cut him off with a shake of his head. He leans back against the couch a little more, absently leaning further into Molly’s side.

“No,” he says quietly. “No, I- I did not know anyone else who had magic. I only discovered my own magic a few years before I left home, you see – for all I knew, I was the only person alive who could do what I could do.”

“But everyone-” Molly starts, only to abruptly cut himself short. “Right. Human. You don’t all have magic.”

“ _Nein_. We do not.”

“Could you not- this ‘internet’ of yours seems like it can do a lot. Couldn’t you have found someone else?”

Caleb shrugs. “Not really. Magic isn’t supposed to exist, you see, so any searches would only bring up stage magicians. Although, did you know that it is actually surprisingly safe to be a practising sorcerer because of stage magicians? People are so accustomed to incredible feats being tricks or being disproved that they will explain it away for you.” He pauses. “Trent taught me that. I was- I told him one meeting that I was not practising as much as I would have liked for fear of people discovering my magic. Although,” he adds thoughtfully, “it was perhaps less of a concern than I thought it would be. I did not, ah… I did not have many friends at university, Mollymauk. There was never anyone who may have dropped in and caught me practising. None of my friends went to the same university as me, and I suspect that the two others from my town likely would not have recognised me.”

“Why not?” he hears Molly asks, the words soft and curious, and he smiles to himself. What he is about to say feels like such a little thing now, in the wake of everything else. It is a tiny thing, a minor thing – it is such an intrinsic aspect of who he is that he forgets, sometimes, that it is an aspect at all. He can still remember the fear and anxiety that he had felt when he first approached his parents about it, the way that he’d felt like he was going to pass out from sheer nerves at any second. He can remember how defensive he’d been of it at university, latching onto any reinforcement and feeling himself turn silently snarling-sharp at any perceived slight. He can remember the challenges. He can remember it getting easier.

It is incredible how, all these years on, he barely cares enough to think about it. He can see no reason not to tell Mollymauk. He can see no reason not to trust him.

“Well,” he says delicately, “for starters, the last time many of them saw me, my hair was almost down to my waist.”

“It was that long?” Molly replies. “Seriously? _You_?”

“ _Ja_ , me.”

“Why? I mean, no offense meant, Caleb, you just… I really cannot picture you with long hair.”

Caleb feels his smile widen. In the light of the day’s events, Molly’s incredulous tone is practically amusing. “Well,” he says, his tone still about as casual as it can be when there’s still left-over tears in his throat, “the last time many of them saw me, I was still presenting as a girl.”

That catches Molly short. “You- what?”

_Just say the words, Widogast_. “I’m trans, Mollymauk.”

“Oh,” Molly says. “Oh! Oh, okay, gotcha, alright. Cool. I’m following.”

If Caleb’s honest, it’s not exactly the response that he was expecting. He’s not sure _what_ he was expecting, but it wasn’t this – he was expecting to have to do some more explaining, to maybe have to explain to Molly what being trans actually meant, but apparently not. He lifts his head, looking over at Molly, and Molly just smiles back at him, as calm and as relaxed as anything. From his expression, Caleb may well have told him that his hair used to be blond.

“ _Du-_ ” he starts. “I-… o-okay.”

Molly raises an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Not the reaction you were expecting?”

“Uh… _nein_. I was, ah… not even all humans know what being trans means. It is still a bit unusual.”

“Trust me, we’ve got things far weirder than just being trans down in the hells,” Molly says easily. “Which, y’know, isn’t actually weird at all.” He pauses, glancing down at his feet, and then adds, quieter, “How, ah… how did Trent take it? Did he know?”

Caleb feels his face fall. He knew that they would have to get back to the conversation topic at hand, but he wasn’t looking forward to it. “He knew,” he says quietly. “I started presenting as male when I got to university. I was very- I was very determined to have everyone at university only know me as Caleb and not as my- as my old name, so… _ja_ , I told him.”

“How did he take it?” Molly asks. “I mean, from what you’ve said he sounds like a bit of a dick. It doesn’t sound like he’d be particularly brilliant about it all.”

“Trent was very supportive of it, actually,” Caleb replies. He looks down at his lap, twisting his hands together, and remembers the feel of fire beneath his fingertips. “He helped me to change my gender on the university system, and start the process of properly transitioning. He said- he said that in order to be my best I had to be comfortable in my own body.” He feels his smile turn wry, and then vanish altogether. “At the time, I thought he was just talking about my university work.”

“I’m going to guess that he wasn’t?”

“He wasn’t.” From beside him, Caleb hears Molly give a small hum of understanding. “He, ah, he was determined that he would teach me. He was… there are not a lot of magical people in the world, Mollymauk, and he was quite keen to have a- a _protégé_. Evidently, he decided that I was going to be that protégé.” Molly hums again, but this time Caleb barely hears it past the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He can feel the memories lying at the back of his skull, slipping into his thoughts like oil and coating everything in days that he has tried so, so hard to forget. He can feel himself starting to tremble. He can’t stop it. “And,” he continues, “and he would- he taught me. Every day, more or less, I would have to meet with him. And it was- it was so _fascinating_ , you know? I had never- I did not know that there was this much magic out there. I had had no encounters with any other magic before encountering Trent and to have it so close, and so real, and to have someone who knew so much and was willing to teach me, was willing to share what they knew… it was incredible.” He pauses, twisting his hands together. He knows what he’ll have to say next. He knows that he wants Molly to see his past, and to understand it, and to know why he reacted how he did.

He just doesn’t want to say it.

From beside him, he hears Molly shifting, leaning forwards and pressing a line of reassuring warmth along his side. Caleb doesn’t look at him but he does lean against him a little more and, against his ankle, he feels Molly’s tail brushing back and forth in small, reassuring strokes.

“And then what?” Molly asks quietly.

Caleb draws in a breath. “And then,” he says, his voice perfectly level and inflectionless, “he decided that he needed to push me.”

And so it continues. Caleb doesn't know how much time passes as he tells Molly the strange, twisting details of his past. He doesn't know how much time passes as he tells Molly about Trent, and about the classes, and about the experiments and the uncertainty and the absolute, complete dependence that Trent fostered. He tells Molly everything, everything he can remember; the assignments, and the judgement, and the sharp, fierce, burning pride that Caleb adored to see but so rarely got.

He tells Molly about the doubt that Trent instilled in his own memory.

He tells Molly about the pain.

He tells Molly about the order that Trent gave Caleb the last time he ever saw him.

“It was in my final year of university,” he says quietly, fidgeting absently with the cuff of Molly’s jacket. “It- by this point I had experienced the magical community, as you know. I had met Jester, and Ikithon had introduced me to some members of the Cerberus Assembly. I knew by this time that he was, ah, _power hungry_ , to say the least, but I didn’t- I couldn’t have-” Caleb cuts himself off, feeling the words catch in his throat, and after a moment he feels Molly’s hand press against his back, rubbing in small, reassuring circles.

“It’s alright,” Molly murmurs. “Take your time, Caleb. Or, y’know, don’t continue. You don’t have to explain anything you don’t want to, love.”

Caleb swallows. “I don’t- I- you need to know this, Mollymauk.” _You need to know about the man you faced_. “Trent was… he was power hungry, but he was not a brute. You met him, you know this – he never forced something if there was an easier, neater means of achieving the same result. He was powerful within the department, and he was powerful within the magical community, but he was- he was not on the Assembly. And he wanted to be.” He pauses, just for a moment. Even now, the memory of what Trent said to him still rings clear in his mind. Even now, he can remember the exact phrasing of the order that Trent gave. “He asked me, as his student, if I could see to it that the position of Archmage of Civil Influence on the Cerberus Assembly became… available.”

For a long, silent moment, neither of them speak. Caleb can practically hear Molly turning over the words in his head, piecing them together with everything else that Caleb has told him about Trent, with everything that he has seen.

He can feel the moment when it all clicks in Molly’s mind.

He can feel the moment when Molly realises the command.

“Caleb,” Molly says. Even in the silence his voice is soft, weighed down with worry and fear. “You- tell me you didn’t.”

Caleb looks down. The carpet beneath his feet is so, so much easier to look at than Molly.

Molly makes a small, pained sound. “ _Caleb_. Did you-”

“I did not kill him,” Caleb murmurs. In his lap, his palm itches with flames. “But I- I did plan to.”

“Caleb-”

“I was going to, Mollymauk,” he continues, barrelling on as yet more memories gather and settle. “I was- I was very, very smart, and very charming, and I- I had a plan. I had a whole plan. And I was going to carry it out, and Trent- he was going to be so _proud_ of me, and he was going to stop with the- with the crystals because I would have done _well_ , I would have been the perfect student, but then- then…”

“Then what?” Molly asks softly.

Caleb swallows. There is no nice way to phrase what he needs to say next. “Then,” he says quietly, “my parents died. A few days before I was going to ki- before I was going to do it.”

“You said… you said they died in an accident,” Molly says slowly.

“They did. They- it was an accident, Mollymauk. But I- they were driving up to see me, you see, and there was an accident, and when I heard the news I- I, ah… I broke a little bit.”

“Caleb,” Molly says, his voice so soft that Caleb thinks he could cry from it if only he let himself. “Oh, Caleb, love…”

Caleb lifts a hand, brushing it roughly over his eyes. He can’t- he can’t let himself get sentimental. He _can’t_. He has cried his tears for his parents, and he is not talking about them now. This is about Trent. This is about Trent, and everything that he did, and why Caleb is so, so terrified to be found by him again.

“It’s alright,” he mutters. He sniffles a little, shaking his head as if to refocus himself, and forces the memories of that time away. They are not for now. That story is not for now. “It’s- it was a long time ago, Mollymauk. I am… I am alright with it.” _Mostly_. “But that- that is not the point of this. The point is that I- I heard about my parents, and even in the middle of it all I could not help but think… this man that I am about to kill, there will be people who will grieve for him. Because of me, because of my actions, someone else will have to experience what I am experiencing right now.” He sniffles again, quieter this time, and brushes yet more wayward tears away. “And I- I couldn’t. For all of Trent’s training, I couldn’t do it.”

“What did you do?” Molly asks softly. Caleb looks up at him, giving a small, helpless shrug.

“Easy,” he says. “I ran. I packed my things, dropped out of university two months before my final exams, and I ran.”

“Where- where to? Where did you go?”

Caleb smiles, just a little. “I went to Jester.”

_Jester? Can I- can I come in?_

_Of course, of course. Is everything alright?_

_I, ah…_

_Because you look like shit, Caleb._

_Hah, ja, I suppose that I do. Can I- would it be alright if I stayed here, with you? Just for a little while. I am- I need to figure some things out._

_Of course you can._

_Bitte._

_But, Caleb… you’re not on the run or anything are you? Because you look super fucked up._

_No, I am not-_

_Oh! Did you kill a guy?_

_…_

_Kidding! I’m kidding, come in, come in, get settled._

_…Thank you, Jester._

“She didn’t know, of course,” Caleb continues, his voice soft. “She still doesn’t. Nott and Beauregard are the only ones who know, although they do not know all the- all the fine detail, necessarily.” He doesn’t think about how Molly does. He doesn’t think about that at all. “But she is- she is a very dear friend of mine, Mollymauk, and she didn’t pry. She let me stay with her until I figured out what I was going to do, and she introduced me to Beauregard and Nott, and she- she helped. So much. I do not think she realises how much she helped me.”

“She sounds like a good person,” Molly remarks quietly.

Caleb smiles. “She is a good person,” he agrees. “She is a very, very good person. And after- after that, I never saw Trent again. I- that is why I am always in disguise when doing magic, you see? I do not know what he would do if he found me, but I suspect that he would not be happy.” The punishments at university had been bad enough. They had not seemed so awful at the time, when Trent had been twisting Caleb’s thoughts until he believed that the punishments were his idea instead of Trent’s, but looking back now, he can understand why he used to wake up screaming. “So,” he continues, desperately trying to push the thoughts of Trent’s potential fury away, “I avoid the magical community, and I- I do not use my name, and I do not let people know who I am, and I- and I hide, and-”

_And he was here_ , Caleb thinks to himself, and he curls his hands into fists so tight that he can feel his nails threatening to break through his skin. _And he was here_. For all his methods, for all his techniques, for all his care and cautious and awful, self-inflicted isolation, Trent still found him. Fuck. _Fuck_. He twitches, leaning forwards and shutting his eyes as his lungs constrict. _Fuck_. Just like that, it’s as if all the progress he’d made in calming himself down since Trent left has vanished. He can feel his heart starting to beat faster again, can feel his mind trip into overdrive as he remembers opening the door and seeing Trent standing there on the other side, so polite and professional and horribly, gut-churningly familiar. Caleb pulls in a breath, and then another one, but neither of them seem to go anywhere, leaving his lungs feeling as empty as before as his pulse raises and his heart hammers and his weak, _stupid_ body starts to tremble again.

“Caleb?” he hears Molly say, and the concern in his voice only makes Caleb shut his eyes tighter. “Are you- are you alright?”

“ _Fine_ ,” he manages to force out.

“Oh, Caleb…” Molly’s voice is soft, as gentle as eiderdown, and Caleb feels the tears threatening to well up again. He feels Molly shift against his side and a moment late he feels a hand rest on his shoulder, giving the faintest tug. “Do you- is this alright-?”

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb mumbles. It’s more than fine. Even this slight touch feels grounding, reassuring in a way that little else does. His own home, now, does not feel safe. He knows every inch of this building, knows every room and every floor and every secret, tucked-away place, but right now, in this moment, it is not his. He can still picture Trent sitting so calm and comfortable in the dining room, can still picture him standing inside the front door, past whatever wards may have held even a hope of keeping him out. This space is not his. This house is not his.

Molly is not his, but this comfort, this kindness… that is.

Between one breath and the next, Caleb moves. He half-turns, pulling his legs up onto the couch as he presses his face against Molly’s chest. He doesn’t think, doesn’t give himself time to think – he knows that if he were to contemplate this for even a moment then he would shy away from it, reminding himself that he has no right to do this, to force himself on Mollymauk like this, but barely a moment passes before Molly reacts.

“Hey,” he murmurs. He lifts an arm, hovering it over Caleb’s shoulders just close enough to touch. “Caleb, I- do you want me to…?”

_“Bitte_ ,” Caleb mumbles. He tilts his head, breathing in deeply against Molly’s skin, and, after a moment, Molly’s arm settles around his shoulders, holding him close and tight. Another moment, and Molly’s other arm follows it.

And then, for the first time since he opened the door to find Trent on the other side, Caleb feels completely, entirely safe. He reaches out slowly, waiting for Molly’s small sound of assent and permission before curling one hand in the fabric of his shirt. It’s soft beneath his fingers, warm from Molly’s skin and the demon-heat that runs through his veins, and it’s easy to lose himself to the softness of Molly’s shirt and the warmth and smell of his skin. Caleb doesn’t look up, continuing to hide against Molly’s front as he feels tears bead along his lashes. He doesn’t see Molly move one of his arms. He doesn’t see Molly’s hesitation. He doesn’t see the expression on Molly’s face when Molly asks quietly if he can play with Caleb’s hair, and feels Caleb nod his permission.

Molly feels Caleb relax further against him as he starts to gently card his fingers through the strands of ginger hair. Caleb’s hair is still half tied back into its little ponytail but it’s the work of a moment for Molly to tug the hair tie free, slipping it over his wrist so that he can run his fingers through Caleb’s hair unhindered. With every touch he can feel Caleb relaxing more, his body losing that awful, trembling, nervous tension that it had had ever since Molly first saw Caleb stumble back into his own office. He wants to murmur to him, wants to continue to hold him and reassure him, but at this point, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t feel like reassuring Caleb will be of any use.

He cannot reassure Caleb, but he wants to say something all the same. He wants to do something, say something, to make this better. To make Caleb feel comfortable.

But he can’t.

Nevertheless, there are words now waiting on his tongue.

“ _ᖨ_ _ᛮѨ_ _ᘸ_ ,” he murmurs. On his tongue, in his language, Caleb’s name tastes like something blessed. “Oh, _ᖨ_ _ᛮѨ_ _ᘸ,_ _ᖨᗇ_ _ᖨ_ _ᚱᚳ'Ѧ_ _ᙪᗄ.”_

Caleb shifts a little but he doesn’t look up, and, somehow, he seems to relax even further. He gives a soft sigh, his breath brushing over Molly’s skin, and Molly remembers just how delighted Caleb had been to learn Infernal, to _hear_ Infernal.

He supposes there can be no harm in saying it again. Not when Caleb doesn’t know what the words mean.

Molly ducks his head, pressing his lips to soft ginger hair, and just barely holds himself back from pressing a kiss to the crown of Caleb’s head. “ _ᖨᗇ_ _ᖨ_ _ᚱᚳ'Ѧ_ _ᙪᗄ_ ,” he says. “ _ᖨᗇ_ _ᖨ_ _ᚱᚳ'Ѧ_ _ᙪᗄ,_ _⩙_ _ᗇѨ_ _ᱡ,_ _ᖧ_ _ᛄѨ_ _ᙪѨ_ _ᛮ_ _⩙_ _ᗇѨ_ _ᱡ’_ _ᗖᖨ._ _ᖨᗇ_ _ᖨ_ _ᚱᚳ'Ѧ_ _ᙪᗄ.”_

_I adore you. I adore you, darling, my gorgeous darling. I adore you._

With every word, with every brush of Molly’s fingers through Caleb’s hair, he feels the witch settle further. The small, tiny tremors that had been running through him, compounding into near-silent sobs, vanish as the minutes pass. Eventually Molly runs out of words to say, lapsing into a silence so soft he thinks he can feel it. It’s a little strange, in a way, to have the house so still and quiet so early in the afternoon. He’s accustomed now to the noises of the household; he’s accustomed to the clattering from Nott’s room as she works on her jewellery making; he’s accustomed to Beau’s loud voice carrying through the rooms. He’s accustomed to the quiet sound of Caleb’s laughter, and the warmth of his voice, and the fondness in his tone as he chides Frumpkin for getting hair on the nice cushions. The house feels too quiet without them. It feels too big.

And, Molly realises slowly, he’s fairly certain that Caleb told Beau he was going to message her once he was done. And as lovely as it is to lie here on the couch, Caleb against his chest and in his arms he doesn’t want Nott or Beau to worry.

“Caleb?” Molly asks softly, his voice breaking the silence around them. Against his front, Caleb makes a small, curious sound.

“Mm?”

“Would you like me to message Beau or Nott for you?”

There’s a pause. “ _Ja_ ,” Caleb mumbles.

“Alright.” Molly pauses. He hadn’t actually considered how to get in touch with Nott or Beau, and he is loath to move away from Caleb to fetch Nott’s tablet from Caleb’s office. “I, ah, how should I…?”

“Here,” Caleb mutters, pulling his phone from his pocket and quickly unlocking it. He twists awkwardly against Molly’s front, passing it to him, and the moment Molly has the phone in his hand Caleb curls up against his chest again, as if even that small action had taken countless energy. “It is, um… go to the messenger app, find the groupchat called, ah, called-”

“Called ‘gosh darn kids get off ma lawn’?” Molly asks, raising an eyebrow as he reads the name.

Caleb gives a small, barely-there laugh. “Hah. _Ja_. That one.”

“Alright.”

“That is- you can message Nott and Beau from there.”

Molly hums. He can’t stop himself from skimming over the messages immediately visible on the screen but he forces himself to go no further than that. He doesn’t want to invade Caleb’s privacy. Not now, and not ever, and _especially_ not when Caleb has already shown so much trust to him, first in removing the bracelet, and then in letting him face Trent, and now in trusting him with his phone.

In trusting Molly to comfort him.

“Caleb?” he asks, to distract himself from how his heart has suddenly started beating a little faster in his chest.

“Mm?”

“Is there- do you want me to tell them anything in particular?”

There’s no verbal response, but Molly can feel Caleb shrugging.

“Alright,” Molly says quietly. “How about I just tell them to head home?” A nod. “And mention a little bit of what happened?” There’s a pause and then, slowly, Caleb nods again. “Okay,” Molly says, his voice a murmur. He ducks his head, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of Caleb’s head, and feels Caleb let out a shuddering sigh against him, his breath brushing warm over Molly’s skin. “If you want me to tell them anything else just let me know, alright?”

There’s a pause. “ _Ja_ ,” Caleb says eventually, his voice little more than a mumble, and Molly kisses his head again, trying to convey with touch what he can’t with words. Half of him hopes that Caleb can understand this, can read the message behind the fleeting contact; that Molly cares for him, and cares about him, and really likes him a rather pathetically huge amount.

The other half of him never, ever wants Caleb to realise. It is infinitely better to stay nothing more than accidental friends than to get his heart broken.

“Okay,” he murmurs. He takes a moment just to breathe, tightening his arm around Caleb’s waist in a small half-hug. He feels Caleb sighing against him, feels his eyelashes fluttering against his skin, and then he lifts Caleb’s phone and opens the messaging app.

> ***** Group Chat: gosh darn kids get off ma lawn *****
> 
> _Caleb:_ hey guys it’s molly  
>  _Caleb:_ caleb lent me his phone for a bit  
>  _Caleb:_ he’s done with the meeting and asked me to ask you to get here as soon as possible
> 
> _tres (les)bien_ : what
> 
> _Caleb:_ something happened at the meeting and he’s not doing so good

Molly glances down at Caleb. “Should I tell them not to worry?”

“Mm.”

“Alright.”

> _Caleb_ : he says not to worry, but he would very much appreciate it if you could get here as quickly as you can
> 
> _nasty crime goblin:_ is he alright??? what happened????  
>  _nasty crime goblin:_ who do I need to fight????
> 
> _Caleb:_ he’s alright nott! he’s fine [unsent]

Molly looks down at Caleb’s phone. The first part of the message is technically true – Caleb isn’t injured, and he’s still safe, and as far as Molly can tell Trent never once cottoned on to the fact that he was being deceived for the entire meeting. There’s been no blood spilled, no unpleasant spells cast. Molly didn’t even hex Trent, tempting as it was.

Still, that doesn’t mean that Caleb is necessarily _fine_.

He certainly doesn’t seem fine at the moment. He’s still curled up against Molly’s front, Molly’s jacket around his shoulders and Molly’s tail wrapped protectively around one of his ankles. Molly knows that Caleb doesn’t understand the intricate details of tiefling-demon tail language and thus doesn’t recognise what this gesture means, but he hopes that Caleb can at least slightly interpret it. He hopes that, at the very least, Caleb recognises that the gesture is one of combined protection and comfort; that it’s a symbol to anyone around that Caleb is under Molly’s protection, and Molly’s care.

He hopes Caleb can understand that much.

He hopes that Caleb can’t understand the rest of it. He hopes that Caleb doesn’t realise that, in addition to all of those meanings, this gesture has another one – one of deep care, and affection, and impossible to describe fondness. It is the touch of lovers, of partners, of friends so close that they know each other better than they know themselves. It is a gesture that Molly has done to Yasha at times, when he’s feeling particularly snuggly and affectionate, but it makes sense, given his history with Yasha. It makes sense given all that she has done for him, and all that he has done for her, and the deep, mutual ties of trust that lie between them.

It doesn’t make sense for Caleb. Molly likes Caleb – he’s not going to try lying to himself at this point – but he knows it’s not mutual. He knows that Caleb likes him, but it can’t be in the same way that he feels towards Caleb. He knows that Caleb doesn’t have the same warmth of a crush resting in his heart, knows that Caleb doesn’t have the same deep, longing fondness settled behind his ribs. Caleb likes him, but he likes him as a friend at most. He doesn’t like him as any more than that.

Molly likes Caleb, and Caleb does not like him back, and yet here he is all the same with his tail around Caleb’s ankle, looking for all the Hells like he was Caleb’s-

Like he was Caleb’s partner.

He would very much like to be Caleb’s partner, he thinks, and then he blinks, shakes his head, and forces himself back to the task at hand. He can think about that later. He can think about this – all of this – later, when he knows that Caleb is alright.

> _Caleb:_ he’s alright  
>  _Caleb:_ you don’t need to fight anyone  
>  _Caleb:_ I got them to leave
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ what the fuck did you do to them
> 
> _Caleb:_ I was my normal charming self, what else?
> 
> _tres (les)bien:_ uh-huh  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ anyway I can be home in fifteen mins  
>  _tres (les)bien:_ nott you want a pick up?
> 
> _nasty crime goblin_ : yes!!!  
>  _nasty crime goblin:_ molly tell caleb we’ll be there really soon
> 
> _Caleb:_ on it  
>  _Caleb:_ thank you

“Caleb?” Molly says quietly, “Nott and Beau will be here soon, alright?”

Caleb gives a small mumble. It sounds like one of acknowledgement. Molly reaches around, carefully passing him his phone back, and Caleb takes it with a murmured “ _danke_.” He stirs slightly, going to tuck it back into his pocket, and then, for no reason that Molly can make out, he suddenly freezes.

“Molly?” he asks, his voice wavering slightly.

Molly hums. “Mm?”

“Did you- did you read the messages? In the chat?”

“…yes?” Molly says after a moment. “I didn’t scroll them, though, I promise you that. I just saw what was already there.”

Caleb swallows. “So you saw Beauregard use my full name?”

“Yeah?”

“So you know my full name?”

“Yeah?” Molly asks again, still confused, and it’s only then that realisation dawns. Oh. _Oh_. Of course. He’d thought about it himself the first time he’d pieced together Caleb’s name all those weeks ago; he’d gone over the options in his head, realising all the things he could potentially do with the power of Caleb’s chosen name, of Caleb’s _true_ name. He’d thought about the pacts, and the curses, and everything that the power of a name could give him.

It is only now, though, that Caleb is realising that. It is only now that Caleb believes that Molly has learned his name.

And for all that he is a bullshitter, and a truth-avoider, and a master of omissions, he does not want to lie to Caleb. Not about this.

Not about anything.

He clears his throat. “If it’s any consolation,” he says, his voice just a little bit uncertain, “I may have already known your full name.”

In his arms, he feels Caleb freeze. “ _W-was?_ ”

“When I was in your office that time you were preparing to summon Fjord’s patron,” Molly elaborates. “You were talking to Beau, and you said something, and she clapped you on the shoulder and called you-”

“ _Widogast_ ,” Caleb finishes.

Molly nods. “Yeah. So. I already know, Caleb.”

“You have known since then.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah.”

“You know my name.”

“Yeah. I do.”

There’s a pause. Molly thinks he can feel Caleb holding his breath, right up until he speaks. “You have done _nothing_ ,” he says quietly, and his voice is almost wondering. “You have- Mollymauk, you could have freed yourself. You could have forced me to free you.”

Molly gives a small, uncomfortable shrug. “Well, perhaps. But I didn’t- I-…” How is he meant to phrase this? How is he meant to say this? For a moment he’s tempted to bullshit it, to open his mouth and ramble some nonsense about biding his time, or checking that he could overwhelm Caleb’s magic, but the temptation only lasts for a moment. He can’t say that. It isn’t true.

He doesn’t want to lie to Caleb.

Molly looks down, and through his eyes watches the magic drifting beneath Caleb’s skin, golden and living and so, so beautiful. “I didn’t want to,” he admits quietly. “I didn’t- I didn’t want to hurt you, or Beau, or Nott. So I- I didn’t.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Caleb says, but there’s no judgement to his words. There’s just the same strange, wondering tone as before.

“I didn’t. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Mollymauk,” Caleb says, and his tone is so achingly soft that it makes Molly’s heart twist, “ _Liebling_ , you would not have worried me.”

“I wouldn’t have worried you _now_ ,” Molly says, willing the feeling in his chest away. “I’m rather certain that I would have given you quite the fright if you’d found out at the time.”

Caleb gives a small, near-silent laugh, and the sound of it is so beautiful that Molly wishes he could bottle it forever. “ _Ja_ , well… perhaps you are correct there.”

“Not perhaps. Definitely.”

Caleb laughs again, a little louder. “ _Perhaps_ ,” he repeats more emphatically. “You do not know what I think, Mr Tealeaf.”

“Well, maybe not, but I can certainly make an educated guess.”

“Is that so?” Caleb asks. He twists in Molly’s arms to look up at him, laughter dancing quietly in his eyes, and for a moment Molly feels like he might just forget how to breathe. Caleb is- he’s gorgeous, of course, but it’s more than that. His eyes are still a little red and puffy from crying, and he’s still bundled up in Molly’s jacket, and it’s so, so easy for Molly to remember the state that Caleb had been in all of an hour or so ago, but despite that, despite all of that, in this one moment Caleb looks… happy. Content. He looks comfortable, resting against Molly’s chest with Molly’s arms wrapped securely around him. He looks content, like this is perfectly normal. He looks calmer than Molly could possibly have expected, given that he is now aware that an actual, literal demon is in possession of his full name.

Of his true name.

And he’s beautiful. He’s handsome, and stunning, and Molly wants to keep that laughter in his eyes forever. He wants to keep Caleb this relaxed and content for as long as possible. He wants to make Caleb feel safe for as long as he can, however he can.

“I-” he starts, aware that Caleb is still looking at him, but no more words come to mind. He doesn’t have a rebuttal to what Caleb just said. For all his quick-witted remarks, for all his silver-tongued nature, right now he finds his words failing him. There is no tease that springs to mind. There is no light, casual comment that he can throw out there to deflect his feelings. There is only honesty, and affection, and more care and trust than Molly has ever felt towards anyone besides Yasha, all sitting quiet and content at the back of his skull.

Caleb catches Molly’s eye, and Molly watches as his smile turns into a smirk. He settles back down on Molly’s chest, acting for all the world as if they’ve done this a thousand times before, and gives a small sigh as he makes himself comfortable. Molly finds himself moving his arms almost without thinking, repositioning them around Caleb, and it’s only when he feels the bare skin of his wrist brush against his jacket that he realises something.

His bracelet is still off.

His bracelet is still off, and he’s still uncontained.

It’s a realisation that strikes him far, far more quietly than he feels it should. Had this happened closer to his original summoning, had he been any other demon, he feels like he would be exulting at the realisation, delighting in his unfettered freedom and enjoying having the chance to stretch and flex his magic after having it spend so long cooped up. He feels like he should be sprinting out of the house, wreaking havoc as every overheard rumour and Hells-born instinct tells him he should, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to abandon Caleb.

No, scratch that: he _can’t_ abandon Caleb. Not now. Not after everything that happened. Not when Caleb is still curled in his arms, his breathing slow and steady and his mind seemingly quieter than it had been earlier. Not when Molly saw Caleb in the aftermath of Trent’s visit. Not when Molly had seen Caleb _crying_ barely a few hours ago, tears streaking down his cheeks as he balanced on the very precipice of a panic attack. Molly can’t leave him. He can’t abandon him. He feels too deeply about Caleb now, as useless and pointless and stupid as that is – he knows that it’s unrequited, knows that it’s one-sided, but, right now, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all, because it is better to have this, to have Caleb’s friendship and trust, than it is to risk anything more and lose it all together. It is better to have Caleb in his arms, breathing slow and steady against his collarbone, than to be everything that was ever expected of a devil and leave Caleb to his own demons.

Molly sighs, ducks his head, and presses his face to Caleb’s hair. He can feel Caleb’s magic settling against his skin, all woodsmoke and paper and perfect golden light, and it feels suffused throughout his bones, chasing away the shadows of his own being and making him feel quieter. He doesn’t want to leave Caleb. He doesn’t want to leave Caleb alone.

He wants to help Caleb, and make sure that he’s okay, and then have everything go back to how it was before, before he cared so damn much.

He doesn’t want to keep the twine bracelet off his wrist.

“Caleb?” he asks suddenly. Caleb makes a small, curious sound, tilting his head back and shifting to look up at Molly.

“ _Was?”_

“My bracelet.”

Caleb frowns. “What about it?” he asks.

Molly lifts his arm, showing Caleb his bare wrist. “I’m still not wearing it,” he points out quietly. “I am- well, I’m not contained anymore. And I just, y’know… I just thought I’d remind you of that.”

There’s a long, quiet pause. Molly watches as Caleb’s eyes run over his wrist, following the path where, up until today, the twine had always run. There’s a strangeness to his gaze, some aspect of it that Molly can’t recognise, and he can’t help but frown a little even as he holds his arm aloft.

And then, out of that thoughtful silence, Caleb speaks. “Leave it off.”

Molly blinks. “You- what?”

“Leave it off,” Caleb repeats. He shifts again, resettling against Molly’s chest. “I do not mind, Mollymauk.”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb says, his voice surprisingly level and certain, “I am. I trust you, Mollymauk. I trust that you will not run.”

“Or cause chaos?” Molly says, his mouth running on automatic as his mind whirls over what Caleb just said.

Caleb gives a short huff of laughter, smiling just a little. “Or cause chaos,” he adds. He reaches out, one hand finding Molly’s and patting it. Molly, unthinkingly, turns his hand, and Caleb’s fingers intertwine with his.

Molly feels his breath catch in his throat. “Caleb,” he says, his voice coming out far softer than he had intended. “Caleb-”

Abruptly, from the front of the house there comes the sound of a door opening and then slamming shut, and Molly feels himself jump. For just a moment, he feels Caleb’s fingers tighten around his own.

“ _Nott’s parking the car!_ ” shouts Beau from the other end of the hallway. Caleb pulls a face and Molly’s sure that the expression must be mirrored on his own face. He’s seen Nott at the wheel before. It hadn’t been a particularly reassuring sight. “Caleb! Where are you?”

“Living room,” Caleb calls back. He glances up at Molly and then down at where their hands rest tangled together against Molly’s chest. “We should, ah-”

“Yeah,” Molly mutters. He lets go of Caleb’s hand and sits up a little as Caleb turns slightly, but before Caleb can fully sit upright, Beau enters. Molly freezes just for a moment, more than a little bit terrified to find out how she’ll react upon finding him more or less snuggling her best friend and flatmate, but she does little more than glance at him before striding over to stand before Caleb.

“Caleb? Caleb!” Beau drops into a crouch, snapping her fingers in front of him. “Dude, come on, what happened? Speak to me.”

Caleb looks over at her and then glances away. “Trent,” he says, and it’s all that Beau needs to hear.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she says, following the long word up with a string of swears more colourful than Molly’s jacket. “ _Fuck_. Fuck! Fuck, shit, shitting ass and balls, Caleb! That motherfucker was _here_? He _found_ you?”

“No!” Caleb cut in quickly. “He didn’t- he didn’t find me. He found Liam.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“He did not know that I was me, Beauregard. He thought that I was- that I was Liam O’Brien. He has no idea that I was Caleb Wiodgast.”

“…What?”

“I was in glamour. He did not see me as… as myself, and I had been going as Liam the whole time we were in contact.” He looks up, meeting her gaze. “He did not know that I was me, Beauregard.”

“Fuck,” Beau breathes out slowly. “Well, shit, that’s a fuckin’ relief I guess. Though it does raise the question: how the fuck did he get in?”

There’s a pause.

“I invited him in,” Caleb admits quietly a moment later, and Molly can practically see the tension gathering in her muscles.

“Caleb,” she says, and her voice is like a knife-edge, sharp and still and so, so dangerous, “what, exactly, do you mean by that?”

“I mean, Beauregard, that I invited him in,” Caleb says again. “I had to. I had to invite him into my house- our house- or risk him realising who I was. That was it. I had to do it. I couldn’t- I could not open the door to him and then shut it again. He had seen me, he knew who I was, he had felt my protection wards. If I had not let him in he would have been suspicious and then we all would have been in danger. I would have been in danger. You and Nott would have been in danger.” There’s a pause, and in the brief moment of silence, Molly feels Caleb’s hand tighten in his. “Mollymauk would have been in danger. And that is- that is not a risk that I can take. So I had to let him in. I had to.”

“Fuck,” Beau says again. She drops into a cross-legged position on the floor, blinking and rubbing a thumb against her chin. “That’s- _fuck_ , Caleb! That’s fuckin’- _shit_. What did you- I mean, if you don’t mind me asking, what did you do?”

Caleb tilts his head towards Molly. “Mollymauk, ah… he helped.”

Beneath his hands, Molly thinks he can feel Caleb tense.

Beau’s thumb grows still. “Helped how?”

Caleb swallows. “Um,” he says, “he, ah-”

“Is going to politely excuse himself,” Molly interrupts. He can see the look in Beau’s eyes. It’s not a dangerous one, per se, but it’s far too knowing for him to feel comfortable explaining everything that happened. Beau has already caught him staring after Caleb in what he’s reassured himself was definitely _not_ a forlorn, tragically smitten manner, and given her normally short and brusque manner, there’s a discomforting level of understanding and awareness in her expression.

He doesn’t want to have Beauregard call his crush out for all to see. Not here. Not now. Not when he knows that Caleb cannot, _does not_ , return it.

“I’m going to head upstairs,” he says quietly. Caleb looks up at him, his face falling into a soft frown, and Molly gives him a small smile. “You’d be better at explaining this than me, love.”

Caleb’s frown deepens. “Molly…”

“I’ll be right upstairs,” Molly says. It’s so awfully tempting to duck his head, to press a reassuring kiss to Caleb’s cheek, but he doesn’t. He can’t. “Promise. I just… to me, this seems like a conversation for you and Beau.” He glances over at her, catching her eye. For a moment she just looks back at him, her expression flat and inscrutable, and then she gives a short, approving nod. “So I’ll leave you two to it, alright?”

“Alright,” Caleb says, but he doesn’t seem convinced. “I- upstairs?”

“Yeah. I’ll be in my room.” Molly pauses. Caleb’s still frowning, something akin to concern hiding in his eyes. “You alright, dear heart?”

Molly doesn’t know why, but at the sound of the pet name, Caleb seems to relax somewhat. He glances over Molly’s face, taking in the soft reassurance in his expression and in his voice, and feels a tiny smile cross his face.

“ _Ja_ ,” he says, his voice just as quiet as Molly’s had been. It is so, so easy to forget Beauregard’s presence. All he can see is Molly, all six of his eyes soft and red and shining with concern. He drops his hand to where Molly’s arms are still warm around his waist and finds Molly’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “I am alright, _Liebling.”_

He doesn’t notice the Zemnian rolling off his tongue. He just notices Molly’s tiny, beautiful smile, and, for a moment, entertains the thought of leaning up and kissing it.

But he doesn’t.

He can’t.

What he wants can only ever be a wish.

“Good,” Molly replies. He holds the eye contact for a moment longer, his thumb rubbing absently against the back of Caleb’s hand, and then he moves to sit up. Caleb unwillingly leans away, letting Molly free himself, but before he stands entirely Molly half-turns, dropping a kiss to Caleb’s forehead. “You’re alright,” he murmurs, the words for Caleb’s ears alone, and Caleb feels them settling safe in his heart. _I’m alright_.

He smiles at Molly as the tiefling leaves, settling himself back against the couch. The space that Molly has vacated is warm and Caleb absently shifts himself to lean against the arm of the couch, his legs still curled up until him. He thinks he can still feel the lingering hints of Molly’s magic, brushing against his skin like soft static, but he knows that he’s imagining it. He’s never felt Molly’s magic before.

All the same, it’s a nice thought.

“Caleb,” Beau says suddenly, her voice dangerously soft. Caleb looks at her and then glances away, curling up against the arm of the couch. He can feel her gaze on him like a physical touch, pushing past the bright layer of Molly’s jacket and sinking into his skin. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. “Caleb, look at me.”

With a sigh, he does. “What?”

Before him, he watches as Beau’s face softens slightly. “We’re gonna have to talk about this,” she says quietly, and Caleb sighs again and shuffles further down. He feels tired. He doesn’t want to have to talk about what just happened again.

“We just did, Beauregard. I just told you how- how Trent got in-”

“Not about that,” Beau interrupts. Caleb glances at her, confused, and she nods towards him.

He frowns harder. “I don’t- what are you getting at here, Beauregard?”

She nods towards him again, but, he realises belatedly, not towards _himself_. She’s nodding towards the jacket that still wrapped around his body, so entirely incongruous with his entire style and wardrobe. She’s nodding towards Molly’s clothing on his person.

“Oh,” Caleb says quietly, and Beau gives a small, almost sympathetic smile.

“Yeah,” she says. “Oh.”

“I don’t- this is-”

“What is it, Caleb?” she asks, her voice so entirely, completely, exactly free of judgement.

Caleb swallows. He wants to duck his head, press his nose to the collar of the jacket and draw the reassuring scent of Molly back into his lungs and blood, but he can’t. He doesn’t know what this is. He doesn’t know what this means. “I don’t- I do not…”

“You don’t normally get so touchy,” she adds, her voice almost flat. It’s not jealousy, Caleb knows that, but it’s something. It’s concern, almost, in that particular way that Beauregard shows it. “I mean, I don’t know if it was just, y’know, what happened, but… yeah.” Her gaze drops, running over the fabric of the jacket. “This is… you’re my friend, and this is… we’re gonna have to talk about it.”

“Not now,” Caleb says. He can’t- he _can’t_. He cannot talk about everything that’s going on with Molly when he himself doesn’t know what’s going on with Molly. He can’t talk about how much he longs for, wishes for Molly’s careful, comforting touch. He can’t talk about the calm that had settled in his bones at the kiss that Molly had pressed to his forehead. He can’t talk about how much he wants to hold Molly’s hand, and press kisses to his lips, and learn the shape of his laughter against his mouth. Not now. There’s no energy left in his bones anymore, no ability to muster his thoughts as he knows he needs to. This is not a conversation that he can have right now. “Later,” he says, his voice little more than a whisper, and Beau’s face softens into understanding.

“Alright,” she says. She reaches out, placing her hand on the couch by Caleb’s side, and after a moment he takes it, giving it a squeeze. Her hand is as gently calloused as it always is, rough from lifting weights and scarred across the knuckles from sparring. It’s familiar. It’s comforting. Beau looks at him, her grey eyes meeting his, and this time Caleb holds the look. There is no danger here. Not with Beau. Not with his friend. She gives him a slight smile, and he feels himself smiling back. “Later,” she echoes back at him, and squeezes his hand again. “Later.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art at the end of this chapter was by [rolee-z](https://rolee-z.tumblr.com/post/184040467406/my-piece-for-crunchywrites-fic-twine-its-an)!
> 
> The next chapter will be going up on April 8th!


	13. Chapter 13

It becomes increasingly clear over the days that follow in the aftermath of Trent’s visit that Caleb is Not Alright, to the point of the phrase deserving the capital letters that Molly mentally assigns it. By the time dinner rolls around that same day he seems more or less himself again, and Molly feels that anyone who didn’t know Caleb wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. He’s still talking, as soft and quiet as he always is, and he’s still smiling, little half fond, half amused things that he gives whenever Nott or Beau are being particularly entertaining, and he’s still _him_ , as far as most people can tell.

But Molly isn’t most people. He knows Caleb. He can tell that something’s up, and he knows that Nott and Beau can tell it too.

He knows that they, like him, can see the small cracks in Caleb’s smiles. He knows that they, like him, can tell how every one of his words is a tiny, careful act. He knows that they, like him, can tell that his leg is jittering beneath the table, and that his hand is squeezing into a fist on his thigh, and that his magic is shifting, climbing, pressing and swirling just beneath the layer of his skin like a shield.

Or maybe only Molly can tell that last one. Ever since he’d had to admit to Beau that yes, she was right about the whole ‘humans only have two eyes’ thing, she’d been quick to clear up some more of his misconceptions: namely, she’d had to explain that humans can’t see magic. Not in the way that Molly can. They can see its effects, and they can see its outward appearance, but they can’t see it the way that he can, when it’s passive and lingering. Nott and Beau don’t notice how, when Frumpkin jumps down from the kitchen counter and lands with a barely audible _thump_ , Caleb’s magic gathers in his hands immediately like he’s preparing a spell. They don’t see the protective wards getting strengthened.

They don’t see the fear in Caleb’s eyes.

And Molly hates it. He hates to see Caleb so nervous and twitchy, for all that he tries to hide it. He hates how, whenever he spends time with Caleb in his office, chatting with him and peering over his shoulder and he tries to explain the magic that he’s working on, he can spot Caleb half-turning his head to glance out of the window, as if fearing Trent making a reappearance. He wants to help, but he doesn’t know _how_ – with the bracelet no longer on his wrist he can, in theory, do anything his powers would allow, but his magic is not designed for this. His magic is not like Caleb’s – it is hell magic, demon magic, magic that is designed for hexes, and curses, and contracts, and not at all for comfort. It is not magic that can protect.

All the same, Molly does what he can. He reinforces Caleb’s wards with hints of his own magic, ties trigger-curses into the boundaries, and tries to lay Infernal over the glyphs that shimmer just outside of human vision. He doesn’t know if Caleb can feel it, but he hopes that he does. He wants Caleb to feel safe. He wants Caleb to feel comfortable again. He wants for Caleb to feel safe and secure in his own home, to be able to ignore what the fearful part of his brain is telling him, and to trust that Nott and Beau will look out for him.

And trust, just maybe, that Molly will look out for him too.

But, as the days go on, it doesn’t seem to let up. Caleb doesn’t get less twitchy. He doesn’t get better at masking it. The memory of Trent in his life, in his _home_ , is still too fresh and sharp, and Molly knows that hiding away won’t help. This house, after all, is where it happened. This house is where Caleb felt so unsafe, and so unprotected. But leaving this house naturally runs the risk of Caleb encountering Trent again, so that’s also a no-go. Pretty much anywhere they could go, Trent may also choose to visit, and for as much as Molly hates seeing Caleb this nervous and uncomfortable, he hated seeing what Trent did to him even more. Which means no mall visit. Which means no more return trips to Claire’s Accessories.

Thankfully, after a few days of tension so thick and heavy that Molly can practically feel it, he realises something. There is one place they can go. Molly only met Trent for a few hours, if that, but he can’t picture him at this particular place. He can’t imagine seeing him there, even if he himself doesn’t _actually_ know what the place looks like beyond what Google images told him. It’s an idea, though. And, in his opinion, an excellent idea at that.

If nothing else, it should be fun enough to make Caleb properly smile, and that’s all the encouragement that Molly needs.

And so, a few days after Trent’s visit, Molly approaches Caleb with a proposal.

\---

“You haven’t fulfilled a promise,” Molly says one morning, dropping down into the chair across from Caleb and sliding a mug of coffee over the table towards him. Caleb takes it, his fingers brushing against Molly’s for a short moment, and raises it to his lips without hesitation, making a small hum of satisfaction that Molly tries very hard to ignore. The coffee, and Caleb’s delight at Molly exactly remembering how he likes it, is not the point of this impromptu breakfast meeting. This breakfast meeting is not happening so that Molly can feel all warm and fuzzy about how, when he glances down at the table, there’s already a plate of toast in front of him, slathered with jam just the way he likes it. This meeting is not about that.

It’s about something much, much more important.

Caleb takes another sip of his coffee before he replies, setting the mug down to one side. “What is it?” he asks with a frown, his voice still low and rough with lingering sleep. “What have I not done?”

“This is something you promised me a while ago,” Molly replies, picking up his toast. “Well, admittedly, you didn’t exactly _promise_ it, but you said that it would happen, and it hasn’t yet.” He gives Caleb an admonishing look over his toast. “So, I think it’s time we got round to it.”

Caleb blinks again. In the soft morning sunlight streaming in through the window, his eyes look bluer than Molly can every remember them looking. “I- is this about me sending you home? Because I am working on that, Mollymauk, I assure you-”

“Not that,” Molly says, waving a hand. “This is much more important than that.”

Caleb frowns. “What is it? What have I forgotten?”

Molly puts his toast down and leans forwards, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them. “You,” he says, feeling a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, “said you would take me to the zoo.”

The reaction to his words is almost immediate.

Caleb’s eyes grow wide, his coffee cup hitting the table with a soft _clink_ , but before he even gets a chance to speak there’s a blur of colour as Nott practically launches herself from the kitchen counters to the dining table.

“ _What?”_ she asks, clambering onto a chair and kneeling upright, placing both hands down flat on the table. “Caleb, we’re taking Molly to the _zoo_? And you never told me?”

Caleb blinks. “I-” he starts.

“How long have you been planning this? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I- I have not been planning this, Nott! This is all Mollymauk’s idea.”

“And it’s a great one,” he butts in. “As long as Caleb agrees to it.” He looks over at Caleb, fluttering his eyelashes in the most charming way he can. “What do you say, _⩙_ _ᗇѨ_ _ᱡ?_ Can we go to the zoo?”

He’s not entirely sure why he decided to use the Infernal pet name, but the result is more than worth it. Caleb colours almost immediately, a faint red flush appearing beneath his freckles. He gives a small cough and swallows, and Molly watches with delight as a tiny smile, the first since Trent’s visit, tugs at the corner of Caleb’s mouth.

“Alright,” Caleb says. “I- I suppose I could take you to the zoo.”

“Woah, woah, nuh-uh,” Beau interrupts. She quickly crosses to the table from the kitchen, taking up a position next to Nott. “You’re only taking Molly to the zoo if we all get to go. I’m not missing this. I want to see him square off against a peacock.”

Molly scoffs, turning to look at her with a roll of her eyes. “I’m sure you would, Beau,” he says scornfully, “if only peacocks were real.”

“They _are_ real.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re not.”

“Dude, you have a _tattoo_ of one.”

“Because it’s a charming and colourful mythical creature!” Molly retorts defensively. “I’ve seen humans with dragon tattoos, which also aren’t real. This is the exact same.”

“It isn’t,” Nott pipes up, resting her arms on the table. “Beau’s right, Molly.”

“Look, I will accept that she was right about the ‘humans only having two eyes’ thing, but this is different.”

“Different _how_?”

“Well, different in that I’m right, and you’re wrong.” Molly pauses, looking from Nott to Beau and back again, and then quietly adds, “maybe.”

Beau raises an eyebrow. “There’s no ‘maybe’ about this. Just you wait until we get to the zoo.”

“Tell you what, I _will_ wait and see.”

“And if I’m right you owe me five bucks.”

Molly gives a helpless shrug, grinning at Beau. “My dear, I would love to agree to that, but sadly I don’t have any money.”

“Oh,” Beau says flatly. “Right, shit, I forgot about that.” She pauses. “How about demon money? You got any of that? Because I would- I would happily trade my money for demon money. That sounds sick.”

“I’m afraid not,” Molly says, sounding almost apologetic. “Sadly I was summoned here entirely naked, so I left all my money behind.”

“Damn. That’s a fucking shame.”

“You could give her some of your earrings.”

“I am _not_ giving her my earrings, Nott.”

“Okay, okay,” Caleb interrupts, his smile growing as he looks between his three housemates. “So, we are decided that we are all going to the zoo, _ja_?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Beau replies, grinning right back at him.

“ _Gut_. In which case, all we must do is decide on when we make our visit.”

“I was thinking we could go today,” Molly replies. He turns to look at Caleb, giving him what was meant to be a winsome grin but came out rather closer to a small, soft smile. “I know you don’t have any client meetings for the rest of the week, and you haven’t mentioned needing to do anything today, and you’ve been really tense lately, so I thought that today could… work…” He trails offs, feeling the weight of Nott’s and Beau’s combined gaze, and curls his tail around his ankle. He hadn’t meant to say all of that. Well, no, he’d _meant_ to say it, but he hadn’t meant for it to sound so… so…

Honest. Genuine. _Caring_.

Caleb is not supposed to know his feelings. Caleb is not supposed to know how even the tiniest smile from him can set Molly’s heart racing. Caleb is not supposed to know how many times Molly has wanted to reach across the table and take his hand. Caleb is not supposed to know how many times Molly has thought of kissing him.

And if Caleb isn’t supposed to know any of that, then Beau and Nott definitely aren’t. The _looks_ that he’s caught Nott sending his way on occasion are disconcerting enough. He doesn’t need any more.

He lifts his head up, forcing himself to look away from Caleb’s soft, surprised expression, and over towards Beau and Nott instead. “What?” he asks defensively. “Don’t tell me you guys have got something planned for today?”

“Oh, no,” Beau replies, with too much amusement in her tone. “I was just, y’know… you seem to know Caleb’s diary pretty well, buddy. I’m gonna guess you don’t know ours as well.”

Molly snorts. “Of course I do.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

“With pleasure,” Molly says. He can do this. He knows he can do this. He is a _master_ of bullshitting. “After breakfast you’re going to go to the gym, and Nott is going to work on that bead lizard she’s been fiddling with. You see? I know you all _extremely_ well, because I am that incredibly observant.”

Beau doesn’t seem convinced, but she seems to let the issue drop. She looks back towards Caleb and Nott, giving a slight shrug. “I mean, Molly might have been bullshitting through his teeth, but I don’t actually have anything planned for today. I’d be down for a zoo trip.”

“Same for me,” Nott says. “And, Caleb, you _do_ need to get out of the house at some point.”

Caleb tries to pull a face, but Molly can still see his smile beneath it. It’s not a fake smile, either. It’s honest, and genuine, and all the more beautiful for it. “ _Ja_ , well… maybe so. I suppose- I suppose I could go to the zoo today.”

“Great!” Beau says. She claps her hands together, looking back and forth between her housemates. “So, we all done? Because I _do_ want to try and go for a quick run before we leave.”

“I just have one question,” Nott says quickly.

Caleb looks over at her. “ _Ja_? What is it?”

“Can we invite Jester?”

\---

> **_Beauregard Lionett_ ** _created a new groupchat with **Caleb Widogast, Nott -, Jester Lavorre**_   
>  _Beauregard Lionett changed the nickname of **Beauregard Lionett** to **Beau  
>  Beau **changed the nickname of **Nott -** to **team mom**_
> 
> _team mom:_ i’ll accept it
> 
> **_Beau_ ** _changed the nickname of **Caleb Widogast** to **boring man rejects nicknames**_
> 
> _boring man rejects nicknames:_ Beauregard.
> 
> _Jester Lavorre:_ wait  
>  _Jester Lavorre:_ why am I here  
>  _Jester Lavorre:_ what’s going on
> 
> **_Beau_ ** _named the groupchat **squad visits the zoo (with molly)**_
> 
> _Jester Lavorre:_ oH MY GOD YES  
>  _Jester Lavorre:_ YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS  
>  _Jester Lavorre:_ wait if we’re all going to zoo im totally adding fjord can I do that?????
> 
> _Beau:_ yeah sure go for it
> 
> _boring man rejects nicknames:_ I don’t see why not.
> 
> **_Jester Lavorre_ ** _added **Fjord T**_ **_��u̷_ ** **_�h̡_ **
> 
> _team mom:_ fjord what the fuck is wrong with your name
> 
> _Fjord T_ _��u̷_ _�h̡:_ what  
>  _Fjord T_ _�u̷_ _��h_ oh yeah that  
>  _Fjord ̵T_ _����:_ give me a second
> 
> **_Fjord ̵T_ ** **_��u̷_ ** **_��_ ** _changed the nickname of **Fjord T**_ **_���h̡_ ** _to **Fjord**_
> 
> _Fjord:_ sorry about that guys  
>  _Fjord:_ my name keeps getting corrupted for some weird-ass reason  
>  _Fjord:_ what’s happening
> 
> _Beau:_ we’re taking molly to the zoo and jester thought you might want to tag along
> 
> _Fjord:_ oh sweet!  
>  _Fjord:_ yeah I’m down for that  
>  _Fjord:_ when are we going?
> 
> _team mom:_ today
> 
> _Jester Lavorre:_ :O  
>  _Jester Lavorre:_ (also I really need to change my nickname this is so BORING)
> 
> _team mom:_ wait wait wait!  
>  _team mom:_ I’ve got an idea
> 
> _Jester Lavorre:_?
> 
> _Fjord_ : uh
> 
> **_team mom_ ** _changed the nickname of **Jester Lavorre** to **Jester uwu**_
> 
> _team mom:_ there
> 
> _Beau:_ fucks sake nott
> 
> _Jester uwu:_ :OOOO !!!!!!!!  
>  _Jester uwu:_ I LOVE IT  
>  _Jester uwu:_ uwu
> 
> _boring man rejects nicknames:_ HI THIS IS MOLLY I TOOK CALEBS PHONE TO SAY THAT I LOVE THAT  
>  _boring man rejects nicknames:_ UWU
> 
> _Jester uwu:_ UWU!!!
> 
> _boring man rejects nicknames:_ uwu owo :3c
> 
> _team mom:_ molly im banning you from the internet
> 
> _boring man rejects nicknames:_ nooooooooo notttsKJgafjgraekuttglhj
> 
> _Fjord:_ what in tarnation…
> 
> _boring man rejects nicknames:_ I apologise for that. I have my phone again.  
>  _boring man rejects nicknames:_ But back to the task at hand. Mollymauk suggested that we could all go to the zoo today.
> 
> _Beau:_ I thought that to save on travel costs we could all use caleb’s car
> 
> _team mom nott:_ I call shotgun!
> 
> _Beau:_ driver!
> 
> _boring man rejects nicknames_ : Um.

Caleb looks down at his phone as Beau, Nott, Fjord, and Jester rapidly start agreeing on who’s going to be sitting where, and sighs. Molly, leaning against his side and peering at his phone screen with his chin resting on Caleb’s shoulder, gives a small, curious hum.

“What’s wrong with Beau’s suggestion?” he asks, tilting his head a little to look at Caleb. “You _have_ got a car. It should be fine.”

“It is not a very large car,” Caleb explains, tapping his thumbs against the edges of his phone as the conversation continues. “It will be a, ah, a tight squeeze even if we do manage to fit everyone in.” He looks up from his phone, meeting Molly’s gaze. “Some, um, some of us may have to double up. I know- Jester and Fjord will likely be fine to share a seat but, ah, even then, it will be a very close fit.” He can feel his ears turning red and resolutely holds his gaze.

Molly, damn him, doesn’t seem affected at all. “Will that be a problem?”

Caleb swallows.

 _No_ , he thinks. _No, it won’t be a problem. No, it won’t be a problem for me in the slightest to spend an entire journey sitting right next to you because Nott and Beau have already claimed the front seats. It won’t be a problem for me to sit next to you, and have you be so very close to me, and be entirely aware that I cannot take your hand because you do not, can not, like me the way that I like you._

_It will not be a problem at all._

“N- _nein_ ,” he says, and quickly looks back towards his phone. “It- no, Mollymauk, it will not be a problem at all. I am- as long as you do not have any issues with it, I am sure that it will be fine.”

“Oh,” Molly replies. Caleb frowns, but he doesn’t look up. Molly had- he had almost sounded _disappointed_ at Caleb’s answer. “Oh, right, alright then. Yeah, no problems here.”

“ _Gut_.”

There’s an awful, awkward pause, and then Caleb asks, “Are you- are you going to get changed out of your pyjamas before we leave?”

“Oh!” Molly exclaims. He sits back, lifting his chin from Caleb’s shoulder, and looks down at his shirt. Just like with his other set of pyjamas, the shirt of this one is an old one of Caleb’s, and Caleb almost hates how much he likes the sight of it on Molly. He doesn’t want to like the sight of Molly in his clothes as much as he does. Because the more he likes the sight of Molly in his clothes, the more it means he likes Molly.

And the more he likes Molly, the harder it will be to send him home.

Beside him, Molly gives a short laugh. “Oh, right, I’d forgotten about that!” He nods quickly, standing up and stretching before heading towards the hallway. “I’ll go get changed and then we can head off.”

Caleb nods, absently spinning his phone in his hands. “Alright,” he replies, and he watches until the tip of Molly’s tail has left the room before opening a different conversation.

> **_Direct Message: Caleb Widogast_ ** _to **Beauregard Lionett**_
> 
> _Caleb Widogast:_ Beauregard, you are aware that my car cannot fit six people, ja? It only has four seats.
> 
> _Beauregard Lionett:_ we can squeeze  
>  _Beauregard Lionett:_ like that time jester helped us take frumpkin to the vets
> 
> _Caleb Widogast:_ In that instance there were only three people in the car and one cat.  
>  _Caleb Widogast:_ This is six people.  
>  _Caleb Widogast:_ We are not going to fit
> 
> _Beauregard Lionett:_ caleb  
>  _Beauregard Lionett:_ dude  
>  _Beauregard Lionett:_ it’s going to be fine  
>  _Beauregard Lionett:_ trust me

\---

It is fine, right up until they pick up Fjord.

Nott had wasted no time in claiming her call of shotgun when they all bundled out of the house a couple of hours later, clambering into the passenger seat as Beau filched the car keys from Caleb’s pocket. They set off in relative comfort, with Caleb and Molly both enjoying the space they had as Nott and Beau argue about the best way to get to Jester’s place, and even when they pick Jester up it’s not _too_ much of a problem. Caleb’s car isn’t a small one, but it’s not exactly big either – normally it’s only used for transporting at most three people from place to place, occasionally with a cat in their midst, and while four people is perfectly doable, five is a noticeable squeeze.

Six people has never been attempted before.

There’s a brief five minutes outside Fjord’s place as they try to figure out how, exactly, to fit him into the car. He dismisses sitting in the trunk out of hand, despite Nott’s encouragement, but it’s abundantly clear that he can’t squish in the back seats with Jester, Molly, and Caleb. Nott is also refusing to share a seat with him in the front and Beau, for obvious reasons, likewise doesn’t offer to share.

One person does, though. One person manages to convince him of the only possible way that he can fit in the car with them, and five minutes after arriving at Fjord’s place they all set off, with the car almost audibly groaning from the combined weight of five people and a carefully glamoured tiefling.

All of which is why they arrive at the zoo with Fjord perched awkwardly on Jester’s lap, Nott commenting loudly on her _wonderful_ expanses of leg space, Beau threatening to turn the car around if they don’t all settle down back there, and Molly and Caleb pressed right up alongside each other at one end of the seats.

It’s perhaps the most frustrating car ride that Molly has endured, out of his entire sample group of, at most, six. This close to each other, there’s absolutely no escape from the woodsmoke-paper-magic scent of Caleb. He can feel it wrapping around him, sinking into his jacket and shirt, and he just knows that he’s going to be able to smell it for weeks. He can feel the line of Caleb’s body pressed up against his own, can feel the warmth of his thigh through the fabric of his black jeans, can feel his damn breath brushing against his neck whenever Caleb turns his head to look at him, or glance out of the window, or do damn near _anything_. It’s awful. It’s infuriating.

Molly doesn’t want this car journey to ever end.

But, of course, it has to. They all tumble out of the car once Beau’s got it parked to her satisfaction, and then it’s a strange blur of parking meters, ticket queues, and turnstiles before Molly finds himself actually standing inside the zoo.

His first impression, more than anything, is that it’s a bit smelly.

“Of course it’s smelly,” Jester says as soon as Molly points this out, rolling her eyes. “ _Honestly_ , Molly – it’s full of animals! And they smell! It’s going to be a little bit stinky.”

“I know!” Molly retorts defensively, “I just wasn’t quite expecting it. Don’t judge me. We can’t all be from the material plane, you know. _Some_ of us have to be from- from…” He falters, recognising the look on Caleb’s face. Right. Public. He can’t exactly go around talking about demons, much as he may want to. They’d already agreed before they left that he should put the twine bracelet back on to mask his magic pattern from any magic users who may also be visiting the zoo that day, and the feeling of Caleb’s magic humming softly against his skin is almost concerningly familiar. It’s almost concerningly comforting.

Molly swallows. Even now, he never ceases to be amazed at just how fucking _blue_ Caleb’s eyes are. “From somewhere else,” he finishes blandly, and watches at Caleb gives him the smallest, tiniest, satisfied smile. It makes his heart do something that he would much rather it didn’t do.

“I suppose you’re right,” Jester says with a sigh, entirely oblivious to the whirling emotions running through Molly’s head. “Oh! And I meant to say this earlier, Molly,” she adds, “but I really like your glamour! It looks really nice.”

Molly preens. It’s the same glamour that he’s worn every time he’s left the house, and while he won’t deny that he does prefer not having to mask his appearance, he doesn’t particularly mind it, if only because he can still remember how Caleb had flushed and called it attractive the very first time he’d worn it. “Thank you, Jester,” he says, grinning, and Jester grins back.

“Of course!” she chirps. “It would’ve been better with donut earrings, though.”

“They wouldn’t have matched my outfit.”

Jester considers this. “No,” she says eventually, “I suppose not. And your ones are really pretty, too.”

“Caleb got them for me,” Molly says proudly. “They’re little eyes, see?”

“Aww! That’s so _cute_!”

Molly doesn’t say anything in response to that – he just smiles to himself, soft and maybe a little bit smitten, and doesn’t look over at Caleb. He doesn’t free his tail from the confines of his trousers to wind it around Caleb’s ankle the way that he wants to. He just smiles back at Jester, and gives a small nod, and look out towards the rest of the zoo as Fjord steps forward with a small sigh, his boots thumping softly against the path.

“C’mon, Jes,” Fjord says, “we’re not here to talk jewellery. We’re here to show our good friend the wonder of this planet’s animals.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the sprawling exhibits. For the space of a moment, Molly swears he catches a glimpse of a glimmering, yellow eyeball resting in the middle of Fjord’s hand.

From beside him, Jester gives a small, horrified gasp. “ _Fjord_.”

Fjord blinks, absently tucking his hands back in his hoodie pocket, but not before Molly watches the eye be replaced by a small, sneaking black tentacle. “Mm?” he says, entirely too innocently. “What?”

“Fjord,” Jester says again, more accusingly this time, and looks pointedly at Fjord’s pocket.

Fjord squirms a bit. “What?”

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t what?”

“Tell me you did _not_ bring Fritters McGee to the zoo with you.”

Fjord gasps, reaching up to place a hand on his chest. “ _Jester_ ,” he says, in an injured tone. “I am- I am hurt, I am wounded, I am offended, frankly, that you would think so lowly of me. I am an honourable and honest man - don’t you laugh at me, I am - and I would on no account _ever_ bring my, my…” Fjord glances around, leaning in and dropping his voice as he continues, “my _friend_ to the zoo with me.”

“Fjord?” Jester says, her voice as sweet as the candyfloss wrapped around the worlds largest razor blade.

“Yeah?”

“I can see him looking at me from your pocket. You forgot to glamour your hand again.”

“…Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

Jester smiles. “Exactly,” she says and then she reaches out, and takes Fjord’s other, non-patroned hand. “It’s okay, though. As long as he doesn’t lick my palm when we’re holding hands again. That was _weird_.”

Fjord pulls a face. “Look, he apologised for that.”

“It was still weird.”

“He’s learning, Jes. He’s getting there.”

“Well, today he can learn new things!” she says brightly. “He hasn’t been to a zoo either, right?”

Fjord shrugs. “Not to the best of my knowledge.”

“Great!” Jester gives a small, excited bounce, her blue hair shining brightly in the sunlight as she looks over at Molly. “Molly! You and Fritters can be friends! Neither of you have been to a zoo before!” She gives a little squeal, jumping in place again. From the corner of his eye, Molly can see Beau, Nott, and Caleb giving Jester matching fond smiles. “This is going to be so much _fun_!”

“Do we have a route planned?” Caleb asks. “So that we can see all the exhibits in the best order-“

“Don’t worry about that,” Jester interrupts, flapping a hand. “Really, Caleb. If we miss something we can always come back, right?”

“I suppose so…”

“So there’s no need to worry about it! And besides, I thought it would be nice if we let Molly choose where to go first.” She smiles at Molly. “Is there anything that you really, really, _really_ want to see?”

Molly shrugs. “I’d like to see your lemures, but honestly, beyond that I’m not bothered.”

“ _Wonderful_ ,” Jester says, in a voice that’s so excited it’s almost concerning. Her smile grows to almost Cheshire cat-like proportions. “Molly,” she says, in her sweetest, nicest, most terrifying voice, “do you know what a sea cucumber is?”

\---

The aquarium becomes one of Molly’s favourite places in the zoo almost immediately, and it does that for a number of reasons. First, it has jellyfish, which are perhaps about the most ridiculous animals that he’s ever seen, and he very nearly doesn’t entirely believe that they’re alive until he sees the tentacles on one of them moving. Secondly, it has a touch tank; Nott delights in pointing out all the creatures to him and naming them, and then promptly breaks his heart when she tells him that the sea pancakes (or, as she calls them, ‘stingrays’) can’t be taken home as pets.

And thirdly, and most importantly, the entire place is lit with soft, shifting blue and turquoise lighting almost the same colour as Caleb’s eyes, and Molly doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone look so stunning when dusted in blue. It’s hard to drag his eyes away from Caleb, actually. Caleb is- he’s just- he looks so relaxed, here in the soft quiet of the aquarium. There’s children shouting and babbling and the sound of Fjord and Beau talking over by the touch tank, but those noises are muffled somewhat by the background droning of the pumps and the gentle water sounds playing through the speakers. Every time Molly sneaks a peak at him Caleb seems to be leaning back against the walls of the exhibit, watching his friends with a fond smile or quietly observing the vast tanks with the same soft smile that he’d had when pointing out the stars to Molly. He’s gorgeous. He’s beautiful.

Molly can’t help but stare.

Caleb catches him staring at one point. He meets Molly’s gaze, and when Molly doesn’t look away after a few moments the corner of his mouth quirks into a small smile. It’s more than a little endearing.

“What is it?” he asks, absently tucking a loose strand of hair back behind his ear. “Are you bored?”

As if. As if Molly could possibly be bored. He shakes his head, stepping away from the tank that Jester had dragged him to before she’d been dragged back to the splash pool by Fjord, and walks up to Caleb, joining him in a half-shadowed corner. “No,” he says softly, and Caleb’s smile only widens. “No, I’m- this is great, Caleb, really. There’s- you have so many _fish_! And they’re so colourful!”

“I - correct me if I am wrong - but you do not have fish, correct?”

Molly shakes his head, feeling his earrings swishing against his neck. “Not even one,” he says. “We’ve got plenty of spiky things, though. And flappy things. And oozy things.”

“Sea urchins are quite spiky,” Caleb says, smiling a little wider. Molly smiles back.

“They are,” he admits. “They actually wouldn’t look out of place at home.”

“ _Ja?_ ”

“Yeah. And your – what do you call them – sea pancake things?”

Caleb raises an eyebrow, his smile widening with visible amusement. “I beg your pardon? Our _whats_?”

“You know!” Molly says. He flaps his arms a few times before gesturing back over his shoulder to the tank. “Sea pancakes. Majestic flap-flaps. The weird flat things that look like _really_ tiny cloakers.”

“… Do you mean stingrays?”

“I suppose. I don’t think that’s as good a name, though.”

Caleb shrugs. “ _Ja_ , well, unfortunately I was not the one who named them.”

“Would you have called them sea pancakes?”

“…Probably not.”

“What if I had said _please_?” Molly asks and watches as, beneath the soft blue lights, Caleb’s cheeks abruptly darken.

“Um,” Caleb says. It might just be Molly’s imagination, but his voice sounds a little deeper. A little rougher. “Well, I, ah, I would consider it.”

Molly hums. “I’ll take that,” he says, and, with Caleb’s smile, they both briefly fall silent. Molly doesn’t really want to be silent, though. Not right now. He wants to keep talking to Caleb. “What about you?” he asks suddenly. “You’re not bored, are you?”

Caleb gives a soft laugh. “ _Nein_ ,” he says, shaking his head. “ _Nein_ , no, not at all. This is- it is actually very enjoyable for me, Mollymauk. I assure you, I am having a very nice time just observing.” He glances up at Molly from beneath his lashes. In the half-darkness of the aquarium, Molly can barely make out the fine ring of blue around his pupils.

He swallows. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice just a little bit breathless, and Caleb smiles wider.

“ _Ja_ ,” he replies. There’s a pause, a shift, and then Caleb steps in closer. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and Molly feels his gaze being pulled to it like the irresistible tug of gravity. “Mollymauk-”

“Caleb!”

Molly can barely stifle his groan of frustration when Caleb steps back at the sound of Fjord’s voice. He doesn’t want for them to be interrupted. He’d been enjoying, properly enjoying this – their little corner of soft, comfortable half-darkness, just the two of them, where he could forget, just for a moment, that what he feels for Caleb isn’t reciprocated. Where he could look at Caleb, and drop his gaze to his lips, and imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

But he can’t. Of course he can’t. He knows that, and he understands that, and he knows that it will never happen because 1) Caleb doesn’t like him back, 2) Caleb is a witch and it would a very, very bad idea to kiss him, and 3) _Caleb doesn’t like him back_. Molly isn’t going to force himself on Caleb. He’s not going to make Caleb uncomfortable, now or ever.

So he sighs quietly, and steps back, and hears the hurried approaching footsteps of Fjord.

“We’ve gotta go,” Fjord says urgently, speed walking towards Caleb and Molly as he wipes his hand off against his jeans.

“Why?” Molly asks, looking away from Caleb with no small degree of annoyance. Caleb, he feels, is much nicer to look at than Fjord, especially under the lights of the aquarium.

“There was an incident,” Fjord replies.

From the corner of his eye Molly sees Caleb frown and glance down at Fjord’s hand. “What happened?”

“Nothing major, just-”

“ _Fjord_.”

“...Fritters McGee may have eaten a sea urchin,” Fjord admits, the words tumbling out in a rush. Caleb sighs instantly, reaching down for Fjord’s hand, but Fjord yanks it back and cradles it against his chest. “It’s alright!” he says quickly, “I didn’t get stabbed or anything, we’re all good, the aquarium is just missing a sea urchin now.”

Molly frowns. “Where did it- where did it go?”

“Fritters ate it.”

“Yeah, I got that, but he’s sort of in your hand…” His eyes widen. “Is it _inside_ you? Fjord, is there a sea urchin _inside you_?”

From Fjord’s pocket, there comes a small, muffled sound. It sounds rather like an eldritch, unknowable entity smugly saying “ **Cᴏɴsᴜᴍᴇ.** ”

“We don’t question Fritters,” Fjord says, now starting to edge more urgently towards the exit. “What matters here is that I am alright, the sea urchin is possibly no longer on this plane, and I really, _really_ feel like we should leave.”

Caleb sighs again, already turning towards the others. “Fine,” he mutters, “I will- I will round up the others. Fjord, we will meet you outside.”

Fjord nods, not saying anything else before he turns and hastily speed-walks out of the aquarium, both hands stuffed firmly into his hoodie pocket.

Molly watches him leave. “Well,” he says. “I suppose that means we’re done here.”

“ _Ja_ , I suppose so.”

“Do you know where we’re going next?”

“Oh,” Caleb says, his tone entirely too vague to be genuine, “I believe Beau has some ideas.”

\---

“Told you they were real,” Beau says smugly, crossing her arms over her chest as Molly stares open-mouthed at the peacock strutting around the enclosure before them. “I told you, dude, but you didn’t believe me.”

“Beau,” Nott says quietly.

“And I know we never got round to agreeing on any kind of bet for this, but I still feel like, y’know, you should owe me something. For being right.”

“ _Beau_ ,” Nott says again.

“What?”

“I think he’s having a moment.”

Molly certainly seems to be having a moment. From what Caleb can see he looks almost awestruck, watching in uncharacteristic silence as the peacock continues to walk, and peck at seeds, and generally do peacock-ey things. It’s only when Beau moves over to him, gently nudging his shoulder, that he actually speaks.

“ _Fuck_ ,” is the first thing that he says, and Beau’s grin only widens. “I- that bird is _stunning_.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” Beau says. “You see those big tail feathers?”

“Yeah.”

“I reckon you could get it to lift ‘em all. Give us a nice mating display, y’know. You’re definitely colourful enough to tempt it.”

Molly’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Oh, sure. Go on, just walk up. See if you can attract its attention.”

Molly glances over at Beau, almost as if doubting her suggestion, and then looks at Caleb. Caleb smiles, nodding towards the peacock. _It’s fine_ , he tries to say through actions, and as he watches Molly’s expression loses its slightly suspicious, uncertain edge.

“Alright,” Molly says slowly. He looks from Caleb to Beau again and then, in one quick, graceful movement, he brushes his hair back, adjusts his clothing into a look that is somehow even _more_ impossibly attractive than it was earlier, and approaches the peacock’s enclosure like he’s planning on seducing the entire world.

The rest of the group watch with bated breath.

Molly flips his hair in a manner that would not look out of place in a shampoo commercial, strikes a deceptively casual, deceptively attractive pose just before the enclosure, and gives the peacock a look that makes Caleb feel weak at the knees even from this distance.

Nothing happens.

The peacock glances over at Molly, looks him disdainfully up and down, and then looks away.

“Oh,” Molly says quietly.

Beau gives a small, thoughtful hum. “…Well, fuck,” she says. “I was wrong.” She sighs, walking up to Molly and clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, dude, I really thought that would work-”

There’s a sudden sound, like the unfurling of some enormous fan, and everyone present looks towards the peacock in unison.

The peacock makes dead eye contact with Beau, fans its tail feathers impossibly wider, and makes what Caleb can only assume is the sultriest _caw_ a bird can make.

Beau’s face pales. “No,” she says. “I- no, no, what the fuck?”

From the side, Jester lets out a delighted peal of laughter. “Beau! _Beau_! The peacock likes _you_!”

“Wha- no! _No_!” Beau exclaims. “That- this wasn’t the deal!”

“Beau, that bird wants to _bone_!”

The peacock calls again.

Nott cackles. “Beau!” she shouts, joining Jester in her laughter. Even Caleb seems to be laughing, the sound of his soft chuckles almost masked by Jester and Nott, but Molly hears them anyway. “You’ve got to accept your fate! You’ve got to woo the peacock!”

“I am _not_ wooing _any_ peacocks!”

“Then turn him down and break his heart!” Jester adds, doing her best to sound forlorn around her laughter.

Beau turns to the peacock with a groan. The peacock calls again, fluttering its tail feathers, and struts back and forth a few times, making the most intense bedroom eyes Molly has ever seen from a bird.

“Alright,” Beau mutters, approaching the exhibit. “ _Alright_. Now, listen here buddy, because I’m only going to explain this once.” The peacock pauses, watching her intensely, and Beau jabs a finger towards it. “You’re really pretty, and my friend here likes you so much that he has an actual tattoo of you, but your fancy display isn’t going to work on me. You know why?”

The peacock cocks its head to one side. Beau takes one step closer.

“Because,” she says, “I’m _real fuckin’ gay_.”

\---

“That is a horse,” Molly says firmly, staring at the creature before him. It flicks its ears, regarding him with a soft, gentle gaze and then, after a moment, carefully licks the inside of its ear with its tongue. Caleb glances over at Molly, curious how he’ll react to this, but Molly seems entirely unfazed. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he continues, “and I’ll admit that it’s a really fucking weird horse, and I’ve never seen a blotchy one before, but that is definitely a horse.”

“ **Hᴏʀsᴇ** ,” agrees Fjord’s patron, its eye shining from within the pocket of Fjord’s hoodie.

“I don’t want to know _what_ you humans did to its neck, though. That’s messed up.”

“ **Lᴏɴɢ**.”

“Did you breed them for combat? Because I can imagine that being that high up would be useful, but just give those manticores their wings back and you’ll be good to go.”

“ **Mᴀɴᴛɪᴄᴏʀᴇs**?”

“Yeah, you know - the things that looked like really big Frumpkins, if Frumpkin was stripy.”

“ **Aʜ** ,” the patron saws knowingly, “ **ᴛɪɢᴇʀs.** ”

Molly frowns at Fjord’s hoodie and sticks his tongue out. Just for a second, a very tiny black tentacle sticks back. “I’m still calling them big Frumpkins,” he says, “or weird manticores. And _that_ -” he spins dramatically, holding his arms out to the creature before him, “is _definitely_ an extremely messed up horse!”

Caleb sighs. “Mollymauk,” he says gently, “that creature is a giraffe.”

\---

They’re halfway between one exhibit and the next, passing snacks from person to person to unknowable tentacle-eyeball-ocean patron, when Caleb realises that Molly is no longer with them.

He freezes in the middle of the path, much to the annoyance of Beau, who was walking behind him, and looks frantically from side to side. _Scheisse_. He’s lost a demon. He’s lost a _demon_. He’s lost an actual, real, proper demon, and he’s lost him in a _zoo_.

Almost distantly, he hears Beau grumbling behind him. “What the fuck, dude?” she asks, nudging against his side as she steps past him. “You forgot you left the stove on or something?”

Caleb shakes his head. “Molly,” he mutters, still looking frantically from side to side. Beau sighs, pushing at one of his shoulders.

“He’s behind us,” she says, gently spinning him in place. “I figured his shoe had come untied or something.”

Molly is stopped some ten yards behind them, crouching down and watching as a small, fuzzy creature with a large fluffy tail nibbles on a scrap of food held between its two front paws. He seems not quite awe-struck, but definitely fascinated, and he doesn’t look up even as Caleb approaches.

“Mollymauk?” Caleb asks quietly, feeling worry twisting in the pit of his stomach. Molly isn’t saying anything, isn’t _doing_ anything – he’s just watching the little creature, fascinated beyond belief. “Mollymauk?” Caleb takes another step closer and this one is enough to stir the rodent to action. It jams the morsel in its mouth and promptly takes off running, sprinting across the ground and whirling up a tree in seconds. “Molly?”

Molly looks up at Caleb, and Caleb’s shocked to see tears glistening at the corners of his eyes.

“Molly?” he asks again, more concerned now, but before he can continue Molly speaks.

“Squirrels _exist_?”

\---

“…That is _not_ a lemure.”

“Wha- _ja_ , yes, yes it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is, Mollymauk, I assure you.”

“But it’s all-!”

“ _Ja_?”

“Stripy! And fluffy! Our lemures look nothing like that.”

“Hm. Well, I suppose I will have to see them for myself one day.”

“Oh, absolutely. Tell you what, one day I’m going to take you to hell – in the nicest way possible of course, love – and I’ll show you a _proper_ lemure. Oh! And I’ll show you my favourite places! And you can meet Yasha! And Caduceus, and Cali, and the Pumats. You can stay at mine.”

“You- really?”

“Of course, Caleb.”

“I’d… I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

\---

The penguin exhibit is one of Caleb’s favourites. It always has been but he’s especially fond of it today, if only because of the reactions of one purple tiefling.

“I wish Yasha could see this,” Molly says, his face practically glued to the glass of the exhibit as the penguins slowly waddle around, a few of them streaking through the water like feathery bullets. “She’d _love_ them.”

At his side, Caleb gives a soft laugh. “ _Ja_?” he asks quietly. “You think so?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Molly doesn’t look up at Caleb, and after a few moments he gives a short laugh as something happens on the other side of the glass. “I mean, really, Caleb! Just look at that! Did you see that!”

“ _Ja_ , of course.”

 _No. Not at all_.

Caleb isn’t watching the penguins. How could he be watching the penguins? How could he possibly be watching the penguins when Mollymauk Tealeaf is there next to him, looking brighter and happier than Caleb can ever remember him looking, his eyes shining and his entire face damn near sparkling with amusement and delight? He looks beautiful, impossibly so – he’s grinning in perhaps the softest way that Caleb has ever seen him grin, like what he’s watching is something rare and delightful, something to be savoured. It still feels a little odd, to be seeing him with two eyes instead of his usual six, but even with the disguise in place he’s still so blatantly _Molly_. No one else, Caleb is sure, could move the way he does, like he is silk and breeze made flesh and like the entire world is his own personal ballroom. Even with Molly’s tail undoubtedly hidden away beneath his jeans Caleb feels like he can see where it would be moving; he can so easily envision how it would be excitedly swishing behind Molly, brushing against his own ankles and maybe, possibly, wrapping around one in that strangely comforting way that it does sometimes. Caleb doesn’t know if it’s intentional. He hopes that it is. He likes it a lot.

“Caleb?” he hears Molly say, startling him out of his thoughts. He blinks, shaking his head a little as he looks over.

“Mm, _ja_?”

Molly smiles at him. “Can we take one home?” he asks, gesturing to the penguins hopping from rock to rock. “Please?”

Caleb frowns, for a moment caught off guard. He was not- he wasn’t expecting Molly to say that, or to even suggest such a thing, but barely a moment passes before the smile on Molly’s face shifts slightly, and Caleb abruptly recognises the teasing edge to it. _Ah. Of course_.

He rolls his eyes slightly, shaking his head as he leans a little against the edge of the enclosure. “No, Mollymauk,” he says, doing his best to sound firm around the smile that he knows is on his face.

Molly only smiles wider. “And why not?” he asks. “Nott took a cat snake.”

“Nott _tried_ to steal a cat snake- a ferret- from the petting zoo,” Caleb corrects himself, “and you know that she did not mean it seriously. It is- it is just one her habits. Besides, even if we did have a penguin, what would we do with it? Why would we need it?”

“Well, I’m sure it would be wonderfully entertaining,” Molly replies. “And it would make me very happy.”

“Would it now?”

“Oh, yes. Very happy indeed. It’d cheer me right up.”

“Ah, well, you should have said that earlier,” Caleb says. He can’t stop the playful tone from creeping into his voice. “You know I am helpless against your sadness, Mollymauk. I cannot stand to see you upset.” That last bit, admittedly, is the truth, even if Molly doesn’t know it.

Molly’s smile shifts slightly when Caleb says that. It might be a trick of the light but it looks softer, somehow, and almost a little bit wistful, like he wants to believe what Caleb is saying.

“I can’t be upset around you, Caleb,” Molly replies, and Caleb feels his heart squeeze at the tone of Molly’s voice. For all his words, for all his languages, he doesn’t think he could ever describe the strange mix of teasing, honesty, and almost mournfulness that he hears woven around the syllables. “You know that.”

 _I don’t_ , Caleb thinks. _I didn’t_.

“Oh,” he says quietly. He can’t let Molly know how he feels. He _won’t_. He swallows, looking back towards the penguins, and when he speaks again he tries to keep his tone as light and teasing as earlier. “W-well, if you cannot- if that is the case, then surely you do not need a penguin as well, _ja_? Besides, we already have Frumpkin. He is-”

“Don’t say he’s practically the same as a penguin,” Molly warns.

“-is definitely not practically the same as a penguin,” Caleb finishes smoothly, without stumbling over his words at all.

Molly heaves a dramatic sigh, turning to look back at the penguins. “Fine,” he says, and the mournfulness in his voice this time is only comedic. “I suppose I will have to leave my feathery friends behind. Goodbye, Julio. Goodbye, Billy.”

“Billy?”

“Like the IKEA bookcase,” Molly remarks, giving Caleb a winning smile.

“Oh!” _Of course._ Gods, but that conversation was- it must be close to two months ago, now. “I, ah, I see.”

“It’s a terrible name for a bookcase – I still stand by that – but it’s an excellent name for a penguin.”

“Oh, _ja_ , is that so?”

“Absolutely.” Molly’s smile widens. “Anyway,” he adds, stepping away from the enclosure, “I suppose we might as well move on now.”

Caleb reaches out, unthinkingly taking hold of Molly’s hand, and gives it a quick squeeze. He can feel Molly’s fingers lacing through his own, can feel the familiar twine bracelet brushing against his wrist. He smiles.

“Come on,” he says, “there is still a lot to see.”

And, still hand in hand, he leads Molly towards the next exhibit.

\---

“Caleb?” Molly asks quietly, as they make their way back to the car at the end of the day. Their hands are still entwined, skin brushing against skin, and Molly would almost think that Caleb had forgotten about it if he hadn’t spotted Caleb’s gaze darting down to it a few times, resting on their conjoined hands with an unreadable expression. It’s been nice, having this little grounding point of contact as they went from exhibit to exhibit, and Molly likes to think that he’s felt Caleb brush his thumb against the back of his hand a few times. He knows that he’s probably imagining it, but that’s okay. It’s nice enough to imagine.

At his side, Caleb gives a soft hum, looking away from where Nott, Beau, and Jester are trying to feed small handfuls of snacks to Fjord’s patron, and looks towards Molly instead. “What is it?” he asks, frowning in a particularly adorable way that makes a tiny dimple form between his eyebrows. Molly wants to kiss it.

He doesn’t, though. He can’t, and he won’t, and he knows that. Instead he lifts his chin, nodding back towards the zoo. “Did you have fun?”

Caleb’s frown vanishes immediately, replaced by a small, soft smile. “I did,” he says, and there’s no doubting the honesty in his voice. “I- this was a lot of fun, Mollymauk.”

“And do you- do you feel better?” _Do you feel less afraid now?_

“I do. That has- this has helped. A lot.” Caleb catches his eye, still smiling, and Molly finds himself transfixed. Even now, even after spending several months on the material plane, Caleb’s eyes are still the most beautiful things that Molly has seen. All of Caleb is beautiful, of course, and handsome, and gorgeous, and quite devastatingly sexy, but his eyes are… they’re something else. They make Molly want to write disgustingly sappy poetry, and lounge dramatically on furniture. Which, admittedly, is something that he already does, but this would be different. This wouldn’t be lounging for the sake of lounging. This would be smitten lounging. Love-struck lounging.

This would be lounging with _purpose_.

“G-good,” Molly says. He blinks and looks away, swallowing to wet his suddenly dry throat. Suddenly, Caleb’s hand around his own feels almost impossibly warm. “I- great, great, that’s good, that’s really good.” He lifts his free hand, covering his mouth as he gives a small cough. “I’m- yeah, I’m really glad to hear that, Caleb. I’m glad you had fun. I’m really glad this helped.”

“You helped,” he hears Caleb murmur quietly, and for a moment all Molly can do is shut his eyes. He can’t- he _can’t_. For as much as he wants to, for as much as he longs to, he cannot turn and press his lips to Caleb’s. He cannot take Caleb in his arms and hug him, and hold him, and be held back. He cannot tell Caleb how he feels.

Because Caleb doesn’t feel the same way back, and even if he did, they couldn’t do anything. They couldn’t have what Molly so badly wants for them to have.

And so he says nothing, and does nothing, and instead watches quietly as, beside the car, Nott and Jester squabble over whether extra-planar entities might possibly be lactose intolerant.

“Mollymauk?” Caleb says suddenly, startling Molly out of his thoughts. He turns his head, looking over at Caleb, and gives a curious hum.

“Mm?”

Caleb smiles. “Thank you,” he says quietly, and he squeezes Molly’s hand. “Really, thank you, Mollymauk. This was- this was very nice.”

Almost distantly, Molly hears the soft _click_ of the car doors opening. “Yeah,” he says, his words just as quiet. “This was- yeah.”

Caleb’s smile widens. He doesn’t say anything else as he squeezes Molly’s hand again and then lets go, slipping into the car and sitting down before looking at Molly with an expectant expression. Nott and Beau are already sitting in the front of the car and Fjord is, once again, perched with a decidedly discontent expression on Jester’s lap. There’s only one place for Molly to sit.

Smile still in place, he sits down next to Caleb and tugs the door shut. As they leave the carpark the motion of the car makes Caleb lean heavily against his side, the tiny, cramped space demanding some degree of physical contact, but even when they hit open road Caleb doesn’t move away. He just sits there, leaning against Molly’s side, watching Beau and Nott argue about navigation with a small, content smile.

At one point in the ride, one of his hands finds Molly’s again. His thumb brushes against the back of Molly’s hand, tracing the ridges and dips of his knuckles. His knee nudges against Molly’s. His magic, so beautiful, so wild, so entirely _Caleb_ , settles in Molly’s lungs and veins like a caress, like an embrace.

Molly shuts his eyes.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks to himself. _Fuck_.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art of Molly and Caleb at the end of this chapter was done by the lovely [amothboy](http://amothboy.tumblr.com/), and the art of Fjord was done by [lookoutforburningbuildings](http://lookoutforburningbuildings.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> And as for when the next chapter is going up, well... is it Thursday yet? ;)


	14. Chapter 14

The zoo trip makes things easier. And, at the same time, it makes things so, so much worse.

Caleb won’t deny that he feels calmer after their trip to the zoo. The chance to go outside, to visit a place with the security and comfort granted by having his friends grouped around him, was a wonderful one, and it was probably the funniest trip he can remember in his not insignificant memory. The sight of Molly encountering popsicles is one that Caleb’s sure is going to be seared into his memory forever for a number of reasons. Molly had had a fantastic time, and Nott had had a fantastic time, and so had Beau, and Jester, and Fjord, and even Caleb himself. He’d felt _calm_ , settled and safe and more than a little bit entertained by all the shenanigans that can happen when you get five humans, one demon, and one extra-planar entity and bring them all to the zoo. It had been _fun_. He feels undeniably better now.

But at the same time…

At the same time, Caleb can’t stop thinking about Molly. Admittedly he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Molly practically since Molly arrived on this plane, but this is different and new, at the same time that it’s a painfully familiar feeling for him. It’s the same feeling that he’s felt since that night in the garden not even a week ago, holding Molly’s hand and pointing out the constellations above him. He’d told himself that this- that this _crush_ would leave eventually, but even now, just a few short days later, he feels uncertain about that. It doesn’t feel like it’s leaving. It feels like it’s getting stronger. And he knows that it’s going to be very, very hard for his crush to up and vanish while Molly is still hanging around, being annoyingly attractive and annoyingly _nice_ , but he feels like it could at least try.

As it is, he just finds himself feeling more for Molly with every passing day, and the zoo trip had only accelerated that process.

He can’t stop thinking about Molly’s hand in his. He can’t stop thinking about the warmth of Molly’s thigh against his own. He can’t stop thinking about Molly’s smile, and about the smell of Molly’s skin, and about the loud, delighted sound of Molly’s laugh.

He can’t stop thinking about what Molly said at the penguin exhibit. After all, he’s had a plan of sorts in mind for a while now.

Because he knows that Molly is lonely. He knows that. He knows that Molly misses his home, and misses his friends, and he’s mentioned on more than one occasion now how much his best friend would love to see or experience something in the material plane. He’s mentioned on more than one occasion how much he’d love to show certain things to said best friend.

He’s mentioned to Caleb just how much he misses her.

Caleb likes Molly. He likes Molly a lot, more than he should. He doesn’t like to see Molly sad, or upset, or missing his home.

He can’t send Molly back yet. He knows that. He still hasn’t found the right spell, or the right circle, or the right sigil for Molly to be able to return to his own home plane of the Nine Hells.

But that doesn’t mean that he can’t bring the Nine Hells to Molly.

\---

Caleb stares down at the glyphs before him.

They’re correct. He’s sure that they’re correct. The Infernal alphabet isn’t familiar to him, the mere form of it too wild and other for the human brain to ever be able to truly process, but it’s as familiar as it could ever be. He knows the runes that make it up, vaguely. He can just about muddle his way through it if he doesn’t try too hard. He can almost _read_ it, but to do that requires a certain mindset. Reading Infernal, he’s found, is like holding a soap bubble within his brain, only ever glancing at it briefly from the corner of his eye for fear of it bursting. It is a careful skill, a delicate skill. It is a skill where moving too fast, _thinking_ too fast, will burst the bubble and send any hope of understanding the glyphs flying.

Caleb looks away from the open notebook resting on his desk. At the very edge of his vision, the runes seem to shift across the paper.

_ᛄᚣ_ _⩙Ѧ_ _ᱡ_ _ᚾ_ _ᘷ_ _ᚾ’_ _ᚱᚾ_ _ᱡ,_ they read.

_Yasha Nydoorin_.

It had taken him longer than expected to find the correct sigil. Yasha, from what he can gather, is not a frequently summoned demon. Her skills seem to lie in gardening, but unlike the demon he’d been intending to summon all those months ago, her strength specifically resides in flowers. It’s an unusual trait for a being of the Nine Hells; from what Caleb understands very few flowers grow there, amongst the arid ash and burning soil, but according to Molly she’s very good at tending for them. Molly had mentioned something in a later conversation about her using lightning magic to help the plants grow, which had been baffling to Caleb, but he hadn’t questioned it at the time.

After all, at the time he’d been busy planning for this.

He looks back at his witch-tome.

_ᛄᚣ_ _⩙Ѧ_ _ᱡ_ _ᚾ_ _ᘷ_ _ᚾ’_ _ᚱᚾ_ _ᱡ,_ the symbols in it read.

He looks back at his notebook. The exact same symbols stare back at him, written in his own half-scrawled, half-looping font, looking like elegant calligraphy that had decided to start hanging out with rough and rowdy mathematical symbols. They’re absolutely, exactly the same. He knows this. He is sure of it. Even looking at his notebook he can still see the symbols in his witch-tome clearly in his mind’s eye. He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that all he has to do is place his contact-crystal in the middle of the circle, channel his magic through it, and the break will open. This is fine. This is _exactly_ accurate.

All the same, he checks again, because this summoning is important.

This summoning is for Molly.

Caleb checks one final time and then reaches into a desk drawer, pulling out a fist-sized chunk of a cloudy crystal that looks almost, but not exactly, identical to a lump of quartz. Any geologist would likely be thoroughly fascinated by its structure if they could get their hands and convenient pocket lens on it, but Caleb would never let that happen. He places it neatly in the carefully drawn circle, takes a deep breath, reaches out, and presses his hand to the circle. _Open_ , he thinks, and beneath his palm the pencil markings flare bright and golden.

The crystal gives a faint crackle as the tiny planar tear opens. For reasons that Caleb has never been able to figure out, it sounds like telephone static.

“ _Hello?_ ” says a voice. It’s a soft voice, quieter and gentler than Caleb had been expecting. “ _Who, um, who is this_?”

Caleb clears his throat, leaning back in his chair. This, at least, is familiar. It is a process that he has carried out countless times before, contacting his summons before calling them to the material plane. He’s always felt like it’s the polite thing to do – it gives him the chance to check that he is contacting the right demon, and it allows them to discuss the terms of the trade, and it also lets him double check that they like tea and that they are actually capable of consuming it. Sometimes demons have strange allergies. Sometimes they don’t have any mouths. Either way, he wants to be as accommodating as possible.

But, unlike all of his normal summoning-calls, this one is a bit different. For starters, there’s no trade to be discussed at all.

“You can call me Caleb,” he says, watching the crystal glow a soft amber as his words are carried out towards the Nine Hells.

There’s a pause on the other end of the crystal. “ _Okay…_ ” the voice says slowly. “ _What can I do for you, Caleb?_ ”

“You, ah, you would be Yasha Nydoorin, _ja_?”

“ _I am_ ,” the voice replies. “ _And you are a wizard_?”

“A witch.”

“ _Oh. Right. Sorry.”_

“It’s alright. You do not need to apologise.”

“ _I just assumed… with the calling and all…”_

Caleb gives a small smile. He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he called Yasha, Molly’s self-defined best friend, but he wasn’t expecting this. “It’s alright,” he says again. “I am- witches and wizards are very similar.” Sort of. Kind of. Not really at all, if he’s honest, but he doesn’t feel like now is the time to get into all the nitty-gritty details. It had been hard enough trying to convince Beau that they were actually rather distinct forms of magic. “But I, ah, I do have magic. As I am sure you can tell.”

“ _I can tell_ ,” Yasha says drily. “ _I’m assuming you contacted me to help you with something_.”

“ _Ja_ , in a manner of speaking.”

“ _What can I help you with, Caleb?”_ ”

Caleb’s smile grows, just a little. “I would like to discuss the possibility of you coming to the material plane for a short visit,” he says. “If you would be amenable, of course.”

“ _Why?”_ Yasha says, her voice more than a little bit suspicious.

“Well,” Caleb continues, “For starters, I believe that we have a friend in common. And, if I am correct, you visiting will make him very, very happy.”

\---

By some wonderful stroke of luck, it only takes a few days for Caleb to gather all the summoning components that he needs to bring Yasha through to the material plane. They include, strangely, a twist of silver wire, some strange material formed by lightning hitting sand, and a small handful of pressed, dried flowers. The strange, glass-like mineral Caleb was fortunate enough to be able to borrow from Jester, and the flowers are forget-me-nots. They look almost out of place in comparison to the other components, looking all small and soft and sweetly delicate beside the sharp edges of the lightning-sand. Caleb’s not quite sure what to make of it all. Summoning components, he’s found, can tell you a lot about the demon on the other side of the portal.

He wishes he knew what Molly’s actual summoning ingredients were. He wishes he knew what they would tell him about Molly.

But, of course, he doesn’t. Even now he has no idea which of the many, many spell components laid out around the circle had been the ones to summon Molly. He could always ask him, he supposes, but that would be undeniably odd. He worries it would make Molly think that he’s planning to summon him back and trap him again, and he doesn’t want to scare Molly. He doesn’t want Molly to worry.

He certainly doesn’t want Molly to be afraid of him.

So he doesn’t ask Molly exactly what materials he’d need should he happen to feel like summoning him again, and instead he focuses on setting up the circle for Yasha. It’s not exact, because, being a witch, his circles never need to be, but it’s enough. It’s enough for him to be able to open a neat little tear to one of the many levels of the Nine Hells, and pull through the best friend of the demon who he accidentally got stuck in his plane of existence.

Honestly, he’s really not sure how he ended up in this position. Up until the whole ‘accidental summoning’ thing, his life had more or less made sense.

He informs Nott of his plan and waits until Molly is upstairs, teaching her his own jewellery-making techniques, before setting out the ritual tarpaulin and chalking the required circle onto it. He finishes the circle, prepares the tea, and leaves it to steep on the counter top as he approaches the blue square of the tarp. This circle is correct. He’s sure of it.

From the couch, Frumpkin gives the circle a considering look.

“Right,” Caleb mutters to himself, brushing the remaining chalk dust on his hands off against his jeans. “Okay. Alright.” His gaze darts over the circle, double-checking the positioning of every sigil and rune and plastic bowl of spell components. Everything is ready. Everything is in place.

Caleb gives a small, satisfied nod. “Okay,” he says again. He rocks back on his heels, takes a deep breath, and then presses his hands together and _pulls_. He feels the familiar-unfamiliar crackling of energy chasing along his veins as he reaches into the void-space between worlds, pushing his magic through the circle and trusting it to figure out the end destination. There’s a swirl of magic, a flash of gold, and then, standing in the circle before Caleb, is one of the tallest demons he’s ever seen.

Yasha – and he can only assume and hope that it’s Yasha – stands well over six feet in height, her dark hair turning light at the tips and hanging around her face and shoulders in a mass of tiny braids and plaits. Her eyes, Caleb realises as the hanging amber dust settles, are odd colours, one blue and one a soft purple, and they meet his with a strange, soft intensity that makes him feel a little bit unsettled. These aren’t like Molly’s eyes. Molly’s eyes are just nice to look at. They make Caleb feel comfortable.

He gives a small cough. “Uh,” he says. “Ah, _hallo_. You are Yasha, _ja_?”

The demon before him gives a short nod. “I am,” she replies. “I take it you are Caleb?”

“I am.” He gives a slight smile, trying to quell the nerves still chasing through him. This is Molly’s friend, and he trusts Molly. If Molly trusts Yasha, then he knows that he can too. All the same, it’s hard _not_ to be at least somewhat intimidated by a towering, alabaster-skinned demon who could probably snap him in half with a look.

Caleb glances at her arms. Beneath the short sleeves of her tunic-like top, he can see muscles shifting. Half of his brain wishes that Beau was here. The other half is very aware that even if a look couldn’t snap him, those arms definitely could.

He gives a slight cough, stepping back from the portal and towards the kitchen counters. “I, ah, I have the tea that I said I would have ready. With two sugars, as you asked.” He grabs the tray off the counter, and turns around in time to see a slightly bemused, slightly surprised expression cross Yasha’s face. She glances down at the tray and then looks back up at him, blinking a few times.

“…Huh,” is all she says.

“And I have shortbread,” he adds, approaching the circle and holding the tray out before him like a peace offering. Which, if he’s honest, it pretty much is. Yasha glances down at it, her gaze settling on the open tin.

“…Do you greet all your summons with tea and shortbread?” she asks.

Caleb shrugs carefully, trying not to wobble the tray. “I greet them all with tea, _ja_.”

“But not shortbread?”

Another shrug, smaller this time. “You are Mollymauk’s friend. It seemed- it seemed polite.” He takes another step forward, holding the tray through the invisible boundary of the chalked circle. Yasha looks at him and then back at the tray, almost as if trying to decipher his true motives, and then, with a small but definitely real smile, she reaches out, and picks up her mug.

“So,” Caleb says, once Yasha has selected a few pieces of shortbread from the provided tin and the tray has been set aside, “I must be honest with you: Mollymauk does not know that you are here.”

Yasha pauses with a piece of shortbread half-way to her mouth. “He doesn’t?” she asks. Her voice is soft, as soft as Caleb has ever heard it, but abruptly that softness seems almost menacing, like the fur of a wolf whose fangs are mere inches from your wrist. “And why not?”

Caleb shifts a little. “I wanted to surprise him,” he admits, twisting his fingers together in his lap and plucking at the cuff of his cardigan. “I- he has been homesick recently, you see, and I have- it has been harder for me to send him home than I thought it would be.” _Especially because I keep avoiding researching it_. “So I- I thought that perhaps it would be nice to bring his home to him. As a surprise. As a- as a treat.” He glances up at Yasha, still fidgeting with a loose thread, and gives a small, uncertain smile. “So… _ja_. I thought that a surprise would be nice for him. He seems like the kind of person to enjoy surprises.”

For a long, silent moment, Yasha says nothing. She lifts her shortbread to her lips and takes a bite, chewing quietly as she continues to observe Caleb, her gaze so piercing and intense that Caleb can practically feel it boring through his skin, seeing him right down to his bones.

“…Huh,” is all she says. She finishes her tea and puts the mug aside, never once look away from Caleb. And then, abruptly, her face breaks into a smile. “You are right about the surprises,” she says, and Caleb lets out a breath that he hadn’t realised he had been holding. “Molly is- he does like being surprised.”

“ _Ja_?”

“Yeah. As long as- you know, as long as it is a good surprise. He likes good surprises.”

Caleb smiles. “Well,” he says weakly, “I hope that you count as a good surprise.”

“I’d better,” Yasha replies, and her expression becomes a little friendlier. “If he’s annoyed to see me then I’m going to stop house-sitting for him while he’s away. I’ll let his tub get all mouldy.”

Caleb feels his smile widen. “I assure you, he’s only ever spoken fondly of you around me.”

Yasha lifts an eyebrow, peering at him over the rim of her mug. “If he hadn’t, I’d have to disown him as my best friend,” she mutters, draining the last of her tea and setting the mug aside. “Where, um, where is he?”

“Upstairs.” Caleb rises, grabbing her mug from the circle and sending it over to the counter with a twist of magic, and then he crosses the room and steps out into the hallway, leaning against the bannister of the stairs. “Mollymauk!” he calls, “come downstairs! I have a surprise for you!”

From the floor above, he hears Molly shout something back. “You have a _what_?”

“A surprise for you all!” he calls again, louder.

“You’ve got a _what_ for me?”

“A- _just come downstairs_!” Caleb shouts and this time he hears a peal of laughter, followed by the now-familiar sound of Molly’s footsteps padding along the hallway and down the stairs. He leans back against the wall as he waits for Molly to approach, shaking his head a little and smiling to himself. There’s something almost painfully familiar now about shouting upstairs to Molly and hearing him shout back, the same way there’s something almost painfully familiar about the pattern of his footsteps, or the soft jingling of his jewellery.

There’s something painfully familiar about Molly, now, and Caleb doesn’t entirely know what to do about it.

“What did you say you’ve got for me?” Molly asks, rounding the end of the stairs and approaching Caleb where he’s leaned against the wall just before the archway into the dining room.

Caleb smiles. He reaches out unthinkingly, placing a hand on Molly’s arm. “I have a _surprise_ for you, _Liebling_ ,” he says, and the moment the words leave him Molly’s eyebrows raise. Behind him, Caleb can see his tail twitching back and forth a few times in small, excited swishes. It would endear Caleb to him, he feels, if it was possible for him to be any more endeared. As it is, it just makes his smile turn a little bit fonder. “I have been planning this for a while.”

Molly’s tail swishes again. “Yeah?” he asks. He leans to one side a little, trying to see past Caleb, and Caleb can’t stop himself from giving a little laugh. “What is it?”

“Come and see,” Caleb says, and he takes hold of Molly’s sleeve, turns on his heel, and gently tugs him through into the living room.

They barely set foot inside before Caleb feels Molly freeze. He can faintly see him as a purple blur at the corner of his vision, and before him he can see Yasha, towering and a little bit terrifying in her grey tunic, but the moment that she lays eyes on Molly the somewhat stony expression she’d been wearing since her arrival dissolves into an impossibly tiny, impossibly happy smile.

“Hello,” she says softly, and in that exact moment Molly’s face breaks into a smile of absolute, pure joy.

“Yasha!”

Molly sprints forwards immediately, dashing through the chalked lines of the circle and colliding against Yasha with a cry of delight. He flings his arms around her shoulders, holding her as tightly as he can, and within half a second Yasha’s arms are around him, holding him just as close. For a moment, his feet are lifted off the ground as Yasha lifts him in an enormous hug, and from his position in the doorway Caleb can see Molly’s tail lashing wildly from side to side, the Nott-made charms on it jingling faintly.

“Yasha,” Molly says again, and his voice is muffled this time, hidden by Yasha’s shirt. “Gods and devils, Yasha, I’ve missed you _so much_.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Yasha says. Her voice is just as quiet as it was over the crystal and is, impossibly, somehow even gentler. She ducks her head, pressing her face against Molly’s hair, and squeezes her eyes shut, her hair hanging around them like a veil. _“_ _ᖨᗇ_ _ᛄѨ_ _ᱡ_ _ᚣѨ_ _ᘾ'Ѧ_ _ᙪᗄ,_ Molly…”

“I know,” Molly murmurs back. _“_ _ᖨᗇ_ _ᛄѨ_ _ᱡ_ _ᚣѨ_ _ᘾ'Ѧ_ _ᙪᗄ_ too, Yash…” His tail finally comes to rest, wrapped tightly around her waist, and for a few more long seconds he rests there, held in the grasp of his best friend. Yasha eventually sets him back down on the ground, with no more effort than as if she’d been lifting Frumpkin, but even then she doesn’t let go of him for another minute or so.

Watching them from a distance, Caleb wishes more strongly than ever that he’d made arrangements to summon Yasha sooner. It’s so clear, so perfectly, painfully clear, how much Yasha means to Molly, and he- he’d been the one to keep them apart. He’d been the one keeping Molly here. He’d been the one keeping Molly from his home.

He’d been the one keeping Molly from his best friend.

“Molly,” Yasha starts, but then she glances over towards Caleb and cuts herself off, quickly swapping to Infernal. From the rising inflection at the end of her phrase Caleb can only assume that she’s asking Molly something, and if the way that Molly glances towards him is any indication, he can only assume that the question was about him.

Molly doesn’t answer immediately. He continues to look at Caleb for a while longer, his brows drawn together into what almost looks like a worried expression, and Caleb finds himself giving a small, almost concerned smile practically on reflex. Apparently, he doesn’t have to be concerned for long – Molly’s quick to smile back at him, the expression short and fleeting but no less sweet for it, and then he looks back at Yasha, gives a shrug, and says a few short words in reply.

Yasha smiles. “Alright,” she says, swapping back to Common. She ducks her head, pressing a kiss to Molly’s forehead. “But you’re alright, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Molly replies. He lifts a hand, wrapping it around Yasha’s wrist, and then looks over at Caleb with a smile. “Caleb’s been looking after me.”

“Yeah, I assumed that much,” Yasha says flatly, but there’s humour hiding in her voice.

“And his housemates are nice, too!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! One of them – Nott – is also a jewellery maker, and we’ve had a _fantastic_ time teaching each other. And the other one, Beau, is…” Molly trails off, chewing his lip for a moment before continuing. “Well, she can be a bit grumpy, and she’s a bit of an asshole, but I think you and her would get along. Oh! And Nott introduced me to the internet!”

Yasha frowns. “The… the internet?”

Molly gives a small, delighted gasp. He lifts his hands, clapping them together gleefully a few times, and for a moment Caleb is shocked at his similarity to Jester in that moment. “ _Yasha_ ,” Molly says, his voice somewhere between entirely serious and more excited than Caleb has ever heard him, “please, _please_ let me tell you about the internet.”

\---

Caleb never expected to spend an afternoon watching one demon teach another demon the ins and outs of the internet, but he’s certainly not complaining. It’s massively entertaining to watch, even if he hadn’t been expecting to have to call a pack of tissues to his hand half an hour in after both Molly and Yasha starting sniffling over the videos of squirrels with several mentions of the fluffiness of their tails, and he very nearly loses track of how much time passes. He’d wisely prepared another twine bracelet in advance of the summoning, and it hadn’t taken long for him to pass it to Yasha as Molly dashed off to grab Nott’s tablet from his room, shouting something about showing Yasha ‘the best thing the material plane has to offer.’ He knows that giving an untested, unproven, untrusted demon free access to his house is probably a stupid idea, but Molly trusts her, and that’s enough for him.

And so Yasha had put the bracelet on, and left the circle, and had proceeded to spend a very enjoyable – and emotional – few hours sat at the dining table with Molly and Caleb as Molly proceeded to show her proof that squirrels are real.

After the squirrel videos – and the penguin videos, and the cat videos, and the videos of cats meeting penguins – the internet is put aside for conversation. Caleb retreats to his office for a while once the conversation becomes more Infernal than common, not wanting to intrude on their very important hellish gossiping. Molly had caught his eye before he left, giving him a look that had clearly conveyed his concern that they were excluding Caleb, but Caleb had just shook his head with a smile and quickly explained that he really did not mind.

And then, with Molly giving his hand a squeeze on the way out, he’d left the room. The urge to kiss Molly on the forehead as he’d passed him had nearly been overwhelming.

It’s nearly an hour later when Caleb hears a soft knock at his office door. He looks up from his desk, where he’d been trying to get some work done and ultimately failing, and turns to face the door. He recognises the pattern of the knock. Much like the man himself, Molly’s knock is more than a little distinctive. “ _Ja_?” he asks, raising his voice to be heard through the door. “Come in, Mollymauk.”

The door swings open. Molly shakes his head a little as he enters, smiling faintly. “You know,” he says, “I’m still amazed that you can tell that it’s me.”

Caleb shrugs. “You have a very distinctive knock.”

“I like the sound of that. _Distinctive_.” Molly moves over to Caleb’s desk, leaning back against the wall next to it, and fidgets absently with the bracelet around his wrist. “It makes me sound rather fancy.”

“Well, it is just as distinctive as you are,” Caleb says, unable to stop himself from smiling, and Molly gives a short, delighted laugh.

“You think?”

“Of course. You are a very distinctive individual, Mollymauk.”

Molly grins down at him. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he says. Caleb smiles back.

_It was_ , he thinks, and does not say.

A soft, comfortable quiet settles between them, familiar and comforting. Caleb can hear the soft sounds of the jewellery on Molly’s tail chiming with every slow, steady swish it makes back and forth. He can hear the sounds of birds outside, and of Molly’s nails running over the woven twine. It is a gentle quiet, a tender quiet.

Caleb doesn’t want to ever lose it.

“Caleb?” Molly asks suddenly. His voice is soft and a little bit uncertain, almost like he’s nervous of saying what he’s about to say. “I was just- I was just wondering, love, how long is Yasha going to be here for?”

Caleb blinks. Somehow, he actually hadn’t considered that. “I, ah… for as long as she is happy with, I suppose,” he says after a moment’s contemplation. “I know that she is a very good friend of yours, Mollymauk. I do not want to cut short her visit. I know that- I know that you have not seen her for a while.” And because of his own failings as a witch, no less. He summoned Molly. He trapped him here. The very least he can do, he feels, is let Molly see his best friend for as long as he needs to.

Molly’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“ _Ja_ , of course,” Caleb replies, frowning a little. “She is your friend, Mollymauk. I- I do not know if she’ll be able to stay the night – you have the only spare bedroom – but we can- we could set up some space on the couch, or-”

“No, no, she’s not going to be staying the night,” Molly interrupts quickly, his words faint and more than a little shocked. “She’s- she’s got to get home and all that. She just wanted to stay as late as she could and wanted to know if that was okay. I know you don’t have any clients today, but I- we didn’t want to, you know, take up too much of your time, or anything like that.”

_Oh, Mollymauk_. Caleb smiles, rising from his desk, and crosses the room to stand by Molly’s side. “Mollymauk,” he says quietly. He reaches out, taking Molly’s hand in his own, and gently squeezes it. He can feel Molly’s fingers twining through his, as easy and as natural as if they’d done this a hundred, a thousand times before. “She is your _friend_. She is your friend, and she makes you happy, and I- I do not want you to be unhappy. You know this. She can stay here for as long as she wants. I do not mind, and I know that Beauregard and Nott will not mind either, alright?”

Molly blinks, and for just a moment, Caleb thinks he sees his eyes dampen with tears. “I-” he starts, his voice a little bit choked. “I- yeah. Yeah. I’m- thank you, Caleb.”

Caleb squeezes Molly’s hand again. It’s all he can think of to do. “You do not need to thank me for this, Mollymauk.”

Molly gives a short, damp laugh. “Unfortunately, love, I’m going to do it anyway.” He lifts a hand, brushing it across his eyes with a small sniffle, and then gives his head a quick shake. It makes the decorations on his horns jingle slightly, like tiny windchimes caught in a miniscule breeze. “Anyway, I had another reason for dropping by your office, darling.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! I was telling Yasha all about movies and stuff and she wanted to see some, so we thought we could have a small movie night of sorts. Hence, y’know, why I had to check how long she could be here for.” Molly looks over at Caleb, smiling widely. “I was wondering if you would, perhaps, like to join us?”

It’s a no-thought question.

“Molly,” Caleb says, “I would love to.”

Molly beams. “ _Fantastic_.” He steps away from the wall and, still holding Caleb’s hand, leads him out into the hallway. They drop by the dining room to collect Yasha before Molly leads them down the hallway to the living room, his tail swishing and swaying with every delighted, half-bounced step. He only lets go of Caleb’s hand once they enter, striding over to what he claimed several weeks ago as ‘his’ couch, much to the annoyance of Frumpkin.

“Come on,” Molly says. He sits himself down square in the centre of the couch and then pats the spaces to either side of him, looking up at Yasha and Caleb with a blinding smile. “Sit down, you two! It’s time for movies!”

Caleb looks at the couch and very quickly does the maths. It’s not tiny, but it isn’t exactly the largest couch in the world. When he’d bought it with Beau and Nott they’d only bothered to check that it could comfortably fit the three of them, but he’s pretty certain that a couch that can comfortably fit one very small woman, one leanly muscled woman, and one string bean of a witch is a very different couch indeed to a couch that can fit one tall tiefling, one _incredibly_ tall and buff demon, and one string bean of a witch.

In short, it’s going to be a squeeze.

Caleb glances up. Molly is still smiling at them, as indescribably excited as the time that he’d encountered a group of five puppies while out and about with Caleb, and Caleb feels his heart soften. He smiles back and, without another second’s hesitation, steps forwards to join Molly on the couch. The moment he’s close enough Molly reaches out, gently taking hold of his wrist and tugging until he’s sat down on the right-hand side of him. Another moment passes, and then Yasha joins them.

It’s a squeeze. It’s also, thankfully, not quite as much of a squeeze as the car ride to the zoo was.

“Is this- is this alright?” Caleb hears Yasha ask from Molly’s other side. Molly grins, giving a happy little shuffle in between them, and then raises his arms to drop them over their shoulders, drawing them in close.

“This is _perfect_ ,” he says. “You comfortable, Yash?”

“I am.”

“Caleb?”

Caleb takes a moment, gathering himself. Molly’s arm is a warm, heavy weight around his shoulders, and this close to he can smell the scent drifting off Molly’s skin so, so easily. He can smell the incense, and the spice, and the heat-touched amber that follows Molly everywhere he goes. He can feel the warmth of his skin, and see the ink twisting over his torso, and, for a moment, he lets himself imagine that Molly longs for this closeness and this touch just as much as he does. For a moment, he lets himself imagine a world in which he can have this.

For a moment, he imagines a world where his feelings are not one-sided.

“ _Ja_ ,” he mutters eventually, “I am- I am comfortable.”

“ _Fantastic_ ,” Molly says, and then he leans forwards, grabs the remote control off the coffee table, and turns on the TV.

Molly shows Yasha _Legally Blonde_. He shows her a few episodes of assorted TV shows. He shows her, much to his absolute joy, _What We Do In The Shadows_ , and delights in pointing out how similar one of the vampires in it is to someone that they know in the Nine Hells. Yasha doesn’t laugh, exactly, but she does smile – a soft, achingly fond thing that speaks volumes to the depths of their friendship. Molly leans against her side as much as he can in the confined space provided to them by the couch, periodically changing things up by leaning against Caleb instead, and by the time night rolls around he's made himself entirely comfortable sprawled out across Yasha and Caleb’s laps. His feet rest on the arm of the couch, encased in the mothman patterned socks that Beau had bought him as a gift, and his head is in Caleb’s lap, resting solid and warm on his thighs. At some point mid-way through the second film Caleb had found himself with a hand in Molly’s hair, running gently through the soft purple strands as his other hand had traced patterns against the length of Molly’s horn. He’d removed his hands when Molly had briefly risen to fetch more snacks from the kitchen and had been uncertain about replacing them, but the look that Molly had given him had been more than enough to convince him to return his hands to their previous positions.

The soft, gentle, almost purr-like sound that Molly had made when Caleb scratched gently at his scalp had convinced him never to stop if he could help it.

He’s not even sure what movie they’re watching now, if he’s honest. He’s not even sure if it _is_ a movie. Nott had dropped by earlier, after Molly had asked Caleb to message her for him, and had spent a few minutes messing around with the cables behind the TV and tweaking a few settings on her tablet before handing it back to Molly with the information that he should now be able to play any video that he finds on the internet on the TV. For all Caleb knows, there could be squirrels on screen. There could be sharks.

But he doesn’t know, because he’s not looking at the screen.

He’s looking at Molly.

Molly’s lying flat on his back in Caleb’s lap, his neck turned at what must surely be an uncomfortable angle so that he can watch the screen, and he’s chatting away with Yasha with a broad smile on his face. He stops to laugh periodically – maybe at something on screen, maybe at something that Yasha says, Caleb doesn’t know – and whenever he does, Caleb lets his hands go slack, feeling Molly’s head shifting beneath his palms. It feels unspeakably intimate, for all that Yasha is sitting right next to him. He feels trusted, wanted – he feels like all that matters, right now, is Molly lying happily on his lap, his head resting on Caleb’s thighs in such a way that his horns don’t jab into him.

Caleb can’t look away. He _can’t_. Molly laughs again, the sound soft and perfect, and shifts a little, his tail wrapping tighter around Caleb’s ankle. He reaches up, absently curling a hand in Caleb’s sleeve, and Caleb feels his heart give a little flutter.

And then Molly turns his head suddenly, and his gaze meets Caleb’s.

Molly smiles up at him. The light of the TV dances over his features, highlighting the line of his nose and the curve of his jaw. His tattoos are faded in the glare, washed out and quieter on his skin, but they’re still visible. Caleb’s glad of that. He likes Molly’s tattoos.

Unthinkingly he shifts a hand, moving it from Molly’s horn to Molly’s face, his knuckles brushing against the soft skin of Molly’s cheek. The hand that was in his hair stays where it is, fingers scratching gently at Molly’s scalp as strands in a thousand shades of purple tangle around his hand as if trying to hold him close. Molly’s hair is so soft. His hair is soft, and his smile is soft, and Caleb’s heart feels soft, worn out by longing but still full of tremulous, anxious hope. Gods, he wants- he wants _this_ , all of this, so badly. He wants to sit before the TV with Molly’s head in his lap, warm and comfortable and content. He wants to feel the weight of Molly against his side. He wants to feel Molly tangling their fingers together, tugging him along without a moment’s thought.

He wants to feel Molly’s arms around his waist, holding him close and tight.

He wants to feel Molly’s lips on his own.

He could do that. He knows he could. The angle would be awkward and the kiss would likely be terrible, but if he wanted to, if he _really_ wanted to, he could lean down now and kiss Molly where he lies. Molly is still smiling, his expression gentle and made gentler still by the half-darkness of the room, and Caleb wants so badly to kiss him. He wants to kiss him, and hold him, and just be with him, in whatever capacity Molly is comfortable with. He wants to talk to him for hours more. He wants Molly to teach him more Infernal. He wants Molly. But right now, more than anything, he just really wants to kiss him.

But he won’t. The power imbalance is too great. The control he has over Molly is too great. The risk that Molly does not like him back is too great for him to even consider.

He won’t do this. He _can’t_ do this. He will not force himself on Molly, now or ever.

So instead he meets Molly’s gaze, and marvels at the beautiful, unreal, ethereal glow of his eyes in the dimness of the living room, and reminds himself that what he has is so much more than he should ever hope for.

Molly’s smile widens, just a little. “Hello there,” he says quietly.

Caleb smiles at him. “ _Hallo_ ,” he replies. In the back of his head, he remembers looking up at Molly beneath the star-hung sky, quietly longing to kiss him. He still longs to kiss him.

He still knows that he can’t.

On his lap Molly shifts a little, his smile turning into a tiny frown. It makes a little dimple form between his two largest eyes, right between his eyebrows. “Caleb?”

“ _Ja_?”

“Are you comfortable?”

It’s an unexpected question, somehow. Caleb blinks. “I- _ja_ , yes, I am comfortable, Mollymauk. Why do you ask?”

Molly shrugs. “Your face just fell for a moment there,” he says simply. “I know I flop on Yasha a lot at home, but this is the first time for you. I just sort of realised that I hadn’t exactly checked that you were comfy. If you’re not, or if I’m too heavy for you, I can move, I just-“

“No!” Caleb says quickly, cutting Molly off. He schools his expression into a soft smile, trying not to think too hard about how immediately Molly noticed the change in his mood. He tries not to think too hard about how the knowledge that Molly is that aware of his thoughts and emotions makes his heart do funny things.

He tries not to think too hard about just how lovely it is to have Molly in his lap, all warm and relaxed and comfortable and looking up at Caleb like Caleb just hung the stars for him.

He tries not to think about any of that.

“No,” he says again, softer. He twists his hand, gently scratching his nails over Molly’s scalp, and Molly’s eyes flutter half-closed, another soft hum escaping him. “ _Ich_ \- no, Mollymauk, you are welcome to stay here.” _For as long as you want_ , he thinks wistfully. He can feel Molly’s tail curling around his ankle, the two split ends of it wrapping close like they’re trying to hold on. He can feel every little shift that Molly makes. He can feel the warmth of his skin. _Stay here for as long as you want, Mollymauk. Please_.

_Please_.

He doesn’t want for Molly to have to leave, he realises belatedly. He knows that it’s coming, knows that he cannot put it off forever, but down at the core of his awful, greedy heart, he never wants it to happen. He wants Molly to stay here, in the material plane, where he can laugh at Caleb’s small jokes, and trade jewellery-making methods with Nott, and watch birds in the garden with Frumpkin, and paints his nails with Beau. He wants to visit the zoo with Molly again, and take him to the park, and show him all the stars and constellations of the material plane. He wants Molly to _stay_.

In his chest, behind the cage of his ribs, his heart aches so much that it hurts.

_Not yours_ , he tells himself again, and once again he runs his nails over Molly’s scalp, making Molly purr happily and give a contented little wiggle in his lap. _Not yours_.

Molly has to go home one day. He knows that.

He just wishes that day could never come.

Caleb feels something nudge gently against his side, and looks up to meet the mismatched gaze of Yasha. She says nothing but the look that she gives him says everything that she doesn’t, with a quiet understanding in her eyes that feels like it pins down Caleb’s thoughts like butterflies.

_I know_ , her look seems to say. _I know what you’re thinking about. I know how you feel about him_.

Caleb swallows. On his lap Molly hums again, shifting around to press his face to Caleb’s stomach. Caleb holds Yasha’s gaze for a moment before looking away, glancing down at Molly. In the flickering light of the TV he looks almost unreal, fey and ethereal and so familiar that it’s painful. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t belong here. He _doesn’t_ belong here, not really, and yet Caleb doesn’t think he could imagine a life without Molly in it anymore. He doesn’t think he could imagine no longer seeing Molly leaning against the kitchen counter in the morning, or relaxing in the window seat in Caleb’s office that he’s more or less claimed as his own, or just hearing him around the house, occupying a small but vital place in Caleb’s life.

In Caleb’s heart.

He looks back at Yasha, and something in his expression must say something, because after a moment her look softens. She looks at him for a while and then also looks down at Molly before meeting Caleb’s gaze once again.

Somehow, for some reason that Caleb cannot describe, it feels like an understanding is made.

“Okay?” Yasha asks quietly, her voice little more than a murmur, and Caleb nods. There had been no judgement in her tone. There had been no harshness. All there had been, really, was concern. And Caleb cannot tell who that concern is for.

“Okay,” he echoes.

“You two gossiping about me?” Molly mumbles from Caleb’s lap. He shifts over a little, blinking open a row of three ruby red eyes, and smirks up at them. “Talking dirty about me behind my back?”

Caleb smiles back. He can’t help it. He’s never been able to help it, not since Molly’s arrival. “Maybe just a little bit,” he admits conspiratorially, and Molly smiles wider.

“Unbelievable,” he says. “Yash, you too?”

“Perhaps,” Yasha replies, in a tone that gives away her smile.

“ _Unbelievable_ ,” Molly repeats. “My two dearest frien- my best friend, giving away all of my terrible secrets. I can’t believe you’d do this to me, Yasha.”

“Whoops,” Yasha deadpans. “I do apologise, Molly. I hope you can forgive me for this. I never meant to tell Caleb about the time that you broke into the royal vault, stole the soul stockpile, and then sold it on the Amber Market. That just slipped- slipped right through, you know?”

“Terrible. Unforgivable. Just as long as you didn’t tell him about-”

“I did.”

Molly gasps. “ _Yasha_ ,” he says, lifting a hand to rest it over his heart. “I am _wounded_.”

“You’ll live,” Yasha replies dryly, patting Molly gently on the ankle.

“I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

“How do you know that?”

Caleb glances over, just in time to see Yasha’s smile turn into a smirk. “Because,” she says, “I know something about you, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

Molly’s eyes narrow. “What do you know?”

Yasha looks at Caleb, just for a second, and when she speaks again it’s in Infernal. For a moment, Caleb thinks that he catches something that sounds like his name, but the sound of it is quickly lost. Beneath his hand, Molly grows still.

“Yasha,” he says.

Yasha raises an eyebrow. “Tell me that I’m wrong.”

Caleb looks back down at Molly. He seems a little flushed, almost, his lavender skin turned darker and dusky beneath his lower two sets of eyes, and for a long, uncertain moment, he says nothing at all. He just continues to watch Yasha, his eyes narrowed.

And then he opens his mouth, crinkles up his nose, and sticks his tongues out at her.

Yasha gives a soft, delighted laugh, and says something else in Infernal. Molly replies, and within moments it sounds to Caleb like they’ve returned to the soft, friendly bickering they’d been enjoying earlier. He huffs a short breath of laughter, looking from Molly to Yasha and then back again, and shifts a little on the couch, careful not to disturb Molly.

And then, abruptly, he feels his phone buzz in his pocket.

> **_Direct Message: Beauregard Lionett_ ** _to **Caleb Widogast**_
> 
> _Beauregard Lionett:_ caleb  
>  _Beauregard Lionett:_ caleb who is the hot girl in the living room  
>  _Beauregard Lionett:_ the one the molly is using like a pillow

Caleb looks up, and looks over towards the corner of the room. There, in the shadow of the archway, he can see Beau poking her head around the door. She makes eye contact with him, looks down at Molly, and then looks back up. As Caleb watches, her thumbs fly over her phone screen.

> _Beauregard Lionett:_ *the one who is joining you in being used as a pillow by molly  
>  _Beauregard Lionett:_ which btw we are going to talk about soon  
>  _Beauregard Lionett:_ very soon  
>  _Beauregard Lionett:_ answer me you asshole you have read receipts on and I can see you looking at your phone
> 
> _Caleb Widogast_ : This is Yasha. She is Molly’s friend.
> 
> _Beauregard Lionett:_ she’s fuckin jacked  
>  _Beauregard Lionett:_ oh shit is she also a demon?
> 
> _Caleb Widogast:_ Ja.
> 
> _Beauregard Lionett:_ hot

Caleb pulls a face at his phone and looks back at Beau. Beau winks at him, smirking across the room, and Caleb just rolls his eyes, tucks his phone back into his pocket, and ignores the three rapid buzzes that he feels from it. Beau can wait. Right now, he has a movie to watch.

Even if he doesn’t actually know what that movie is.

He doesn’t receive any more messages from Beau, and eventually the movie draws to the end. Even with the credits rolling Caleb still isn’t _entirely_ sure what he just watched, but he’s alright with that. Whatever it was, he’s sure that he’s seen it before – he’s seen almost every movie in this house before, thanks to multiple movie nights with Jester, Fjord, Nott, and Beau. And even if he hasn’t seen it before, he can always watch it again.

He doesn’t know when he’ll next have Molly resting in his lap again. He doesn’t know if he’ll _ever_ have Molly resting in his lap again.

As the credits continue to roll Caleb shuts his eyes, just for a moment, and lets his hands grow lax in Molly’s hair. Molly gives a soft hum, pushing up against them, and without thinking Caleb starts scratching at his scalp and horn again, earning another delighted purr. He doesn’t open his eyes, though. He wants to remember this.

He only opens his eyes when he feels Yasha shifting next to him, and feels Molly starting to stir on his lap.

“I need to be getting home,” Yasha says with a sigh. She taps gently at Molly’s legs and Molly lifts them obligingly, letting her stand with a stretch. “Caleb, would you be able to help?”

“Oh, _ja_ , _ja_ , of course!” Caleb replies quickly. He looks down at Molly, who smiles up at him for a few seconds before sitting up with a groan, making cool air rush to fill the space he had previously occupied. Caleb tries not to let his shiver be too visible as he stands and quickly ushers Yasha through to the dining room, Molly trailing after them. Ridiculously, he already misses the warm weight of Molly in his lap.

He makes quick work of preparing the circle to dismiss Yasha, checking his components and runes as Yasha and Molly share a small, quiet farewell by the doorway.

“I’ll see you soon, I hope,” he hears Yasha say.

“Caleb’s a good man,” Molly replies, his voice just as quiet as Yasha’s had been. “He’ll- I’ll be home soon, I’m sure of it. And if not, he knows how to summon you.”

“Hm. I suppose so.” There’s a pause, and then Yasha adds, “You look out for yourself, alright? Y’know, with all… with what I said earlier. Look out for yourself.”

“I will,” Molly says. Caleb straightens up, giving the circle one last look over, and then turns to face the two demons. Molly gives him a small smile. “You all ready, darling?”

Caleb nods. “ _Ja_ , I am.”

Molly looks up at Yasha, and barely a moment later Yasha hugs him again, squeezing him tightly before letting him go. “Bye, Molly,” she says.

Molly smiles. “Bye, Yash.” He glances over at Caleb, meeting his gaze, and gives a little nod. Yasha walks over to the circle, stepping inside with a grace unexpected of her towering stature, and gives Molly one last smile.

With a heart full of some emotion that he cannot place Caleb reaches out, settles his magic into the circle, and with a bright, amber-gold flash of magic, Yasha is gone.

At his side, Molly gives a small sniffle. It’s a tiny sound, barely audible, but it makes Caleb’s heart squeeze all the same. _You did this_ , he thinks to himself, watching as the magic fades and settles, the remnants sinking into the bones of the house and its surrounding wards. _You made Molly feel this way._

_You made him cry_.

“Molly,” he starts, unsure of what to say, but he barely manages to get that one word out before Molly turns, takes a step forward, and wraps Caleb up in a tight hug.

“ _Thank you_ ,” he whispers, the words hidden against Caleb’s neck. Caleb can feel Molly’s tail curling around his ankle, can feel Molly squeezing him gently and tightening his hands in his shirt. “Thank you, Caleb. I- _thank you_.”

Almost unthinkingly Caleb lifts his arms, hugging Molly back. They stand like that for a few moments more, Molly’s head pillowed on Caleb’s shoulder, and then Molly sniffles again and leans back, moving his arms to take hold of Caleb’s shoulders. He’s so close. He’s _so_ close. Caleb can see the tears still lingering in his eyes, can see the inked feathers twisting across his skin, can see the way he bites his lip and can smell the incense-spice of his skin. Beneath his hands the fabric of Molly’s shirt is soft and warm, and he wants so badly to hug Molly again, to hold him close and feel his heart beating against his chest. He wants to make Molly smile the way he had when he first saw Yasha.

He wants to kiss him.

“Caleb,” Molly murmurs, his voice barely audible, and Caleb cannot stop his gaze from darting down to Molly’s lips. Molly’s tongues dart out, wetting his lower lip, and then, slowly, achingly and wonderfully slowly, he leans in.

Caleb shuts his eyes.

He feels the soft, dry press of lips to his cheek, and when he opens his eyes it’s to see Molly smiling at him.

“Thank you,” Molly says again. “Really, Caleb. This- this was amazing.”

“Oh,” Caleb says faintly. He’s not disappointed. He’s not. This – all of this – was already so, so much more than he could ever have wished for. He knows that what he wants he cannot have. He _knows_ that.

All the same, his heart aches.

Molly smiles a little wider and steps back entirely, letting go of Caleb’s shoulders. “I’m going to head up to bed,” he says. “But- just _thank you_ , Caleb. For summoning Yasha. You’re the absolute best, love. Really. Tomorrow, I’m going to do something lovely for you. Breakfast in bed. Flowers. The whole nine yards, just you see.”

Caleb smiles. He can’t help it. “ _Ja_?”

“Yeah,” Molly says. “Promise. Cross my heart.” He grins, pausing in the doorway. “Goodnight, Caleb.”

“Goodnight, Mollymauk,” Caleb replies. He pauses, and then adds, “ _ᗖᗑ_ _ᚱѨ_ _Ꮝ_ _ᙪѦ_ _ᱡ_ _Ѧ_ _ᘾ._ ” _Good night_.

Molly gives a short laugh. “ _ᗖᗑ_ _ᚱѨ_ _Ꮝ_ _ᙪѦ_ _ᱡ_ _Ѧ_ _ᘾ,_ to you too, love.” He smiles at Caleb one last time, warm and soft and familiar, and then, with a faint jingling of jewellery, he turns and leaves.

For a long, long few minutes, Caleb stands alone in the dining room. Distantly he can hear Beau wandering about, can hear Nott rummaging through the pantry of other things out in the hallway, but he doesn’t pay the sounds any attention. Right now, they’re not important. He’s not sure what is important.

Well, no, not quite. He knows what’s important.

Molly is important. Molly’s happiness is important.

And he is holding that back.

“Caleb?” he hears Beau call, but he doesn’t reply. He _can’t_. His throat feels thick, choked up with want and longing and with soft, useless hope. There’s no point in hoping. He knows that. He knows that Molly does not like him the way that he likes Molly, and he knows that Molly has to go home, and he hates it.

He hates it.

“Caleb?” Beau calls again, and as he watches she wanders into the dining room, immediately spotting him. Her shoulders drop. “Oh,” she says softly, approaching him. “You alright there, bud?”

Caleb shrugs. He doesn’t know. “ _Ja_.”

Beau gives him a look. “Don’t bullshit me, Caleb.”

“I’m not.”

“Uh-huh.” There’s a pause, silent save for the sounds of the surrounding night. At the edge of his hearing, where magic and mundane mix, Caleb feels like he can hear the distant song of the stars. “…We’re gonna have to talk about this, Caleb. You know that.”

Caleb sighs. “Beauregard…”

“Tomorrow,” Beau says, more firmly. “Tomorrow I am sitting you down, and we are gonna talk about this. Alright?” Caleb looks away but Beau reaches out, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking him gently until he finally looks up at her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes are sharp, perceptive and intuitive as always, but there’s a softness to her look that he recognises. Behind the sharpness, behind the slight impatience, there’s a hint of concern. _She’s worried for me_. “Alright?” she asks again, quieter, and this time Caleb nods.

“A-alright,” he mutters. He looks away again. This time, Beau doesn’t go to chase his gaze. “I- _ja_. _Ja_ , yes, tomorrow. Tomorrow we will talk about…” He trails off.

“About Molly,” Beau prompts softly, and Caleb swallows.

“ _Ja_ ,” he replies. “About Molly.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday today, so I figured I'd post this chapter early as a sort of inverse birthday present; a gift from me to you <3
> 
> The art in the middle of this chapter was done by the ever-lovely [heidzdraws](https://twitter.com/heidzdraws/) (also now on [tumblr](https://heidzdraws.tumblr.com/)), and the art at the end of the chapter was done by [mollymauk-widogast](https://mollymauk-widogast.tumblr.com/). Additional art has also been added to chapters [12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16826527/chapters/43197506) and [13](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16826527/chapters/43562477#workskin).
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on April 15th, and chapters will be going up weekly on Mondays from this point on!


	15. Chapter 15

Frumpkin watches Caleb from the window seat as he eats his breakfast, his wide, golden eyes observing with an intensity that Caleb feels would be concerning if he wasn’t so absolutely accustomed to it. The cat tracks his motions as he lifts his fork from his plate to his mouth and then back again, looking for all the world as enthralled as if Caleb was unravelling the very mysteries of the universe before him. Caleb’s not quite sure what to make of it, but it doesn’t bother him. It’s just Frumpkin being Frumpkin. Admittedly, Frumpkin doesn’t normally watch him eating his breakfast, but this _is_ a slightly unusual event.

For starters, Molly had been the one to make his breakfast.

Caleb turns his head, looking over to the kitchen counters. Behind them Molly sways from side to side before the stove top, singing a song half under his breath and gently bopping his head in time to it. It’s not a song that Caleb recognises, what with how it’s very clearly in Infernal, but he likes the sound of it. It sounds nice, coming from Molly’s lips – it fills the room with a soft sort of comfort, mingling pleasantly with the quiet sounds of Nott and Beau’s conversation. Despite what he’d promised yesterday, Molly hadn’t quite managed to make Caleb breakfast in bed, but Caleb doesn’t blame him for that. He knows that Molly is a late riser, prone to lie-ins and long, hot morning showers that leave him damp-haired and flushed purple and smelling like the most impossibly alluring blend of his own natural scent and the smell of Caleb’s shampoo and body wash. Caleb had offered to take Molly out to get his own toiletries, and though the bathroom is now close to overflowing with bath bombs and bubble bars, Molly had neglected to get any shampoo for himself.

He hasn’t told Molly how distracting it is. He can’t imagine that Molly would take that piece of information particularly well.

Before the stove, Molly finishes his song. He falls silent for a moment, his sways settling into stillness, but Caleb can just about see the few inches of tail that are visible above the counter tops swishing from side to side, ticking back and forth like a metronome. As he watches Molly starts to bop his head again and then, after another few moments he starts singing something else. It’s still in Infernal. It still sounds beautiful.

Half-absently, Caleb wonders if he could hear the song in full one day. Not sung quietly over a stove top but sung properly, open and loud and clear in whatever circle of the Hells Molly calls his home. _The third circle_ , Caleb thinks to himself. He knows that. He knows where Molly’s home is.

He puts down his mug of tea with a faint chiming of porcelain on wood, and keeps watching Molly at work. The steam wreathed around him catches in the sunlight, shimmering like an impossibly fine, golden mist, but it’s not nearly as ethereal and stunning as Molly is. The sunlight shines soft and golden off the bands wrapped around his horns and the small studs resting in the lobes of his pointed ears, making his eyes light up a gentle ruby-red, and it gilds his skin in such a way that he looks to be sparkling with it, made incandescent and impossibly beautiful by this one, simple thing. There’s no make-up on his face and he’s dressed only in the soft pyjama pants and old t-shirt of Caleb’s that he sleeps in, but he’s stunning all the same. Hell, he’s stunning _because_ of it. He looks comfortable, content and entirely confident in Caleb’s kitchen. As Caleb watches, Molly reaches out without looking, grabbing a plate from a cupboard as his tail tugs open a drawer, withdrawing a knife and fork and setting them down with a soft clatter.

“Nott!” Molly calls. “Beau! Pancakes are done!”

“ _Finally_ ,” Beau groans. Caleb glances over at her, smiling a little at the familiar sight of her grumpy ‘shut the fuck up, Widogast, it’s not my fault we’re out of the good cereal’ face. “Fuck, Molls, I thought I was gonna _starve_ here.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that you don’t have _ᗑ_ _ᚱᚣᚾ_ _ᙪѦ_ _ᙪ_!” Molly replies. “I had to improvise!”

“They’re _pancakes_ , Molly. How hard could it be?”

“I needed to make sure that they were good!”

Caleb clears his throat, speaking up above their conversation. “They, ah, they are very good, Mollymauk,” he says. “Thank you very much for making them.” He looks back to the kitchen, catching Molly’s eye, and the smile that Molly gives him is very nearly blinding.

“See?” he asks, turning back to Beau as she approaches the counter. “ _Caleb_ likes them. The wait is worth it.”

“How come Caleb got the first pancakes?” Nott grumbles, even as she slips off her chair and takes her plate up to the counters.

“Because I like Caleb better than you,” Molly answers easily. He meets Caleb’s gaze, flashing him a wink and a grin. Caleb feels his ears turning red and quickly looks back down at his plate, poking industriously at the remnants of his pancakes in the hope of hiding the blush he can feel on his face. He wants Molly’s words to be honest. He so, so sadly badly wants for them to be honest.

From the counter, he hears Beau and Nott bickering over who gets the first stack of pancakes. From what he can tell, still looking intently at his plate, it sounds like Nott wins the argument - he hears a triumphant _whoop_ and the quick, pattering sound of her run as she dashes back to the table, and a moment later a fresh plate of pancakes appears next to him, quickly followed by Nott herself.

“I won,” she says proudly, immediately before taking a massive bite of pancakes. Caleb smiles, giving a soft huff of laughter. He likes this. He likes the easy comfort of it, and he likes how _natural_ it all feels – it feels right, to hear Beau good-naturedly complaining at Molly for not having more pancakes ready. It feels right to take another sip of his tea and watch as Frumpkin jumps neatly down from the window seat. It feels right to exist in this space, in this life, with these friends, and feel entirely comfortable around all of them.

Eventually, Molly and Beau join them at the table too, and they all settle into silence. It’s a peaceful scene that would probably look more than a little bizarre to an outsider, considering the presence of a certain purple-skinned demon, but, to Caleb, it all feels entirely normal. He can feel Molly’s tail curling lazily around his ankle beneath the table, the touch altogether familiar and grounding, and its presence stops him from rising as he so normally would to put his plate away once he’s done eating. Instead he stays, enjoying the silence as Beau quickly finishes up her breakfast across from him.

“Caleb?” she asks, pushing her plate away from her the moment that she’s finished. Caleb gives a soft hum, pulling his gaze away from Molly.

“Mm?” he asks. “What is it?”

She tilts her head towards the hallway. “Our talk?” she says, and just like that, Caleb feels the soft silence shatter around him. “From yesterday?”

_Oh_. “Oh,” he says eloquently. “I- _ja_. Yes. Do you want to talk about that now?”

Beau shrugs. “No time like the present. That alright with you?”

_No_. No, not really. If he’s honest, he can’t imagine _any_ time being alright with him to talk about- to talk about this, but he knows that he needs to. He knows that he has to. He nods, drawing in a breath. “ _Ja_ ,” he says quietly. “ _Ja_ , now is fine.”

“Great,” Beau replies. She rises, quickly grabbing both of their plates. “Upstairs? Your room?”

“ _Ja_.”

Beau nods, quickly depositing their plates in the sink, and reaches out to clap Caleb on the shoulder as she leaves. Caleb stands with a soft sigh; across from him Molly catches his eye, frowning curiously.

“What’s happening?” he asks in a stage whisper. “Is everything alright?”

Caleb swallows. Around his ankle, he can feel the reassuring touch of Molly’s tail loosening, and it feels like a tether being untied. “I- _ja_ ,” he says faintly. “This is- everything is fine, Mollymauk.”

Molly raises an eyebrow. “If you say so,” he says, and with that his tail falls slack. Caleb smiles back, though he suspects it comes out as more of a grimace, and then, before he can talk himself out of it, he turns, and walks towards the stairs, and follows Beau up to his room.

Molly watches Caleb leave almost absent-mindedly, sipping at his mug of tea without really thinking about it. Caleb looks- well, not quite concerned, not really, but almost glum, like he knows what the end result of the conversation with Beau is going to be and knows that he’s not going to like it. Molly wonders what they’re going upstairs to talk about. It seems to be something serious, going by Beau’s expression, but as far as he’s aware nothing major has happened since the incident with Trent. Although, he supposes, they could be talking about that. Beau could be telling Caleb to be more careful with meeting his clients. That would definitely explain the look on Caleb’s face.

His curiosity sated, Molly returns to his own breakfast. He eats slowly, enjoying the peace of the morning, and it’s only when he finishes the last bite that he realises that, across the table from him, Nott is staring at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “What?” he asks around a mouthful of pancake. Nott wrinkles her nose. He swallows, and quickly tries again. “What is it? Is there something on my face?”

She shakes her head. “No,” she replies. “I was just… I wanted to ask you some questions, that’s all. Nothing bad, I promise. We just need to… we need to talk about a few things.”

Molly frowns. “Like what?”

Nott sighs. “Molly?” she asks. “Can I talk to you upstairs?”

\---

The door to his bedroom shuts behind Beau with a _click_ as quiet and as sharp as a pinprick. To Caleb, crossing to sit down at the head of his bed, it feels like a lifeline breaking.

_I don’t want to be here_ , he thinks to himself, even as he does his very best to make himself comfortable past the tension in his spine. _I do not want to talk about this_. He shuffles a little in place, tugging at his cuffs just so that he has something to occupy his hands with, and watches as Beau crosses the room towards him.

With every step, he feels his stomach twisting more, coiling in on itself in uncertainty and a not insignificant amount of fear. He doesn’t even know what he’s afraid of; this is just a conversation with Beau, after all, and though he knows from experience that she can be truly terrifying when she wants to be, she’s also his friend. He trusts her. He _likes_ her. He knows that, even if she gets riled up and snappish, none of it will be truly directed at him, not really. Beau is _safe_.

But, right now, watching her approach and being all too aware of the conversation that they’re about to have, in a strange way she feels anything but.

“So,” she says, sitting down at the foot of the bed, crossing her legs and leaning forwards to look Caleb in the eye. “Molly.”

Caleb nods. Beau’s gaze is sharp, tight and focused and impossible to escape from. He can’t back out of the conversation now. He can’t leave it. This is something that they have to talk about, and he knows it. He coughs quietly and swallows, wetting his suddenly dry throat. “ _Ja_ ,” he says quietly. “Molly.”

“He’s… he’s been here for a while now.” It’s not a question.

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb replies. “A few months.”

“You any closer to getting him home?”

_No_. “… _Ja_.”

Beau sighs. “Caleb…”

“I am,” he answers defensively. “I am… I have been looking into the options, Beauregard. I have just been busy with- with work.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, with not a hint of belief in her voice. “Sure.” Caleb doesn’t say anything else, not looking away, and after a moment Beau sighs and rolls her eyes. “ _Look_ ,” she continues, “you know why we’ve gotta talk about this, right? You get that?”

Yes. Yes, he knows. He knows exactly why Beau has been so insistent to talk to him about this, and he knows exactly why he wants to avoid the conversation. He’s never been particularly good at examining his own feelings, let alone accepting them, and this is… it’s a lot. Molly is a lot, and Caleb feels for him so strongly that sometimes he feels like his heart can barely contain it, like it’s overflowing with sunlight and warmth that he wants to press into Molly’s hands, to show to him and go _look what you to do me, Mollymauk, look at this beautiful thing you make me feel_.

_Look at this beautiful, wonderful thing, and take it. Because I cannot have it_.

Just for a second, Caleb shuts his eyes. He knows why they have to talk about this. He _knows_ it.

But that doesn’t mean he has to enjoy it.

“Yes,” he whispers eventually. “I- _ja_ , yes, Beauregard. I know.”

He hears her soft sigh. “I didn’t- I’m gonna be honest, Caleb, I kind of didn’t want to bring it up.”

_Then why did you?_ “Oh? Why not?”

“Because… well…” She trails off, giving a short, huffed sigh, and Caleb opens his eyes again, looking up at her. Beau shrugs, raising a hand to scratch at her undercut. “I don’t know, man,” she says eventually. “You just… I don’t know, you seemed pretty happy, and chill, and all that, and I guess I was kind of hoping that you and Molly were just friends, you know?”

“We are friends,” Caleb points out quietly, because it’s the truth. He _is_ Molly’s friend, or at least he considers himself to be Molly’s friend, and he feels that that, at least, is mutual. Molly may not consider them to be the closest people in any of the planes, but he certainly doesn’t seem to hate Caleb. He’d even told Caleb outright that he cares about him and wants him to be safe, which certainly implies a certain degree of friendship.

Beyond that, though… they’re not anything. Caleb knows that. He knows that for certain.

Across from him, Beau gives him a look. “You know exactly what the fuck I’m getting at here,” she says. “You and Molly might just be friends, but you know exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Caleb,” she interrupts. “I’m not fuckin’ stupid. I’ve seen how you look at him. I saw you two together yesterday. And, I mean… Caleb, dude, I love you, but you are _not_ a cuddly person. I’ve only ever seen you that affectionate with Jester, and that’s just- that’s just what Jester does, you know? This, the whole thing with Molly and Yasha and you fuckin’- fuckin’ playing with his hair or whatever, and giving him moon eyes… that was different.” She meets his gaze, her eyes steel grey and serious. “I’ve never seen you like that before, Caleb. Not with anyone.”

Caleb squirms uncomfortably. “I don’t… Mollymauk is just…”

“He’s affectionate, yeah,” Beau finishes for him. “But he also seems kinda respectful. If you’d told him that you weren’t so good at all the, y’know, touchy-feely stuff I kind of get the impression that he would’ve left it at that and cuddled Frumpkin instead. You’ve never had any issue in the past telling people not to touch you, and I didn’t exactly see anyone forcing you when I saw you petting his hair, or whatever it was you were doing. And that’s not even the most of it. After the whole… after _dickwad_ was here, and I found you and Molly on the couch? That was… that was something, Caleb.”

Caleb doesn’t have anything to say. He _knows_ that there’s nothing that he can say in his own defence, that anything he says will only add to the mounting evidence. He looks down, tugging absently at the cuff of his cardigan, and rubs his fingers over the woven pattern of the fabric. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say.

So he does what he does so often, and he says nothing.

“You matter to me,” Beau says, her voice unusually soft and serious. “You’re one of my best friends, and you can be a total dick at times, but I love you, you know? You matter to me. You matter a lot. And this… Molly…” She trails off, sighing. “… I don’t know,” she mutters. “I just- I don’t want you getting hurt. I don’t want Molly getting hurt either, because even if he’s loud as shit and steals all the goddamn pretzels, he’s still a good guy, but I don’t know if this whole _super_ cuddly shit is normal for him. I just know that it’s not normal for _you_.” She looks back at him, fixing him with a sharp stare that’s tempered by concern. “So, for my own sake, I need to… I need to know how bad this is, Caleb. I need to know. And, obviously, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, all that typical stuff, but… I want to help. And I’m worried. And I don’t want either of you getting hurt.”

For a long, silent few moments, Caleb doesn’t say anything. He can feel his pulse beating through his body, can feel the air gathering in his lungs on every inhale and exhale, but they feel distant, almost. Faint, like he’s no longer entirely in his body. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t want to be here. But he knows that he has to, and he knows that he can trust Beau. Beau does not know every detail of his past but she knows enough, and she’s never let him use it as an excuse, not really. She understands, and she doesn’t force him into doing things that would make him truly, horribly uncomfortable, but she doesn’t let him use it as an excuse. She’s sensible. She’s clever. She’s abrasive and stubborn and a bit of an asshole who will absolutely pound on his bedroom door to make sure that he gets up in time for an important client meeting no matter how much he complains about it, and she _cares_.

She cares so, so much, for him, and for Nott, and for all of their friends. He knows that, beneath the roughness and the coarseness and blunt nature of her questions, she cares more than he can really comprehend.

When she says that she doesn’t want him getting hurt, he knows that she means it.

“Okay,” he says eventually. “I- okay. You can- you can ask me things.”

“Thank you,” Beau says quietly. There’s a pause, and Caleb can practically feel the cogs turning in her head as she tries to work out what to ask first. He doesn’t want to try and follow her train of thought – he feels that thinking about it too much will only make it worse and so he sits, and fidgets, and waits.

Eventually, Beau speaks.

“Is this a crush?” she asks. For anyone who didn’t know her, they would almost think that she didn’t sound like herself – her tone is soft, gentle and quiet and truly, honestly _concerned_. There’s no harshness to it, no judgement. There’s just a clinical curiosity and a genuine worry for one of her best friends.

Under the intensity of her gaze, Caleb squirms uncomfortably. He knows the answer. He’s known the answer for a while now.

He just doesn’t want to have to say it.

For some stupid, ridiculous reason, he feels like admitting to it will make it less real. What he feels towards Molly is his and his alone – it’s his crush, and his feelings, and his heart that longs so constantly for Molly. It is not Beau’s, and it is not Nott’s. It is a feeling that is settled so close to his heart that he can barely separate it from himself any more. It’s settled beneath his skin, lying along his veins and weaving through his magic until his magic and his feelings for Mollymauk are near enough one and the same, both beautiful and constant and _his_. This is his.

But at the same time…

At the same time, he knows that saying it will speak it into truth. Now, in this moment, if he really wants to, he can pretend otherwise. He can pretend that he doesn’t adore Molly, that he doesn’t care for Molly, that Molly doesn’t brighten his day so much it feels like the very sun itself has been lodged within his chest, glowing more brightly and more warmly than his magic ever has. He can pretend that every too-long glance in Molly’s direction is born from professional curiosity. He can pretend that every lingering touch is merely him making an effort to be friendly.

He can pretend that he doesn’t feel for Molly, and that he doesn’t look to the day that Molly has to go home with a creeping, growing mournfulness.

Caleb looks up, and blue eyes meet grey.

He can’t lie to Beauregard. He won’t.

“Yes,” he says, and the word is little more than a whisper.

To Beau’s credit, she barely reacts. She just gives a small nod, absently tapping her fingers together as she looks away, a faint frown furrowing her brow. “Right,” she says quietly, before looking back at Caleb. “I’m not gonna lie, dude, but I fuckin’ knew it. I called it.”

Caleb frowns, feeling his heart start to pick up. “You didn’t- have you- have you told anyone?”

“No!” Beau interrupts quickly, shaking her head. “No, no, it’s just me. I didn’t, y’know… I didn’t want to go tattling on your feelings or anything. That’s a proper dick move, and I’m trying not to be too much of a dick these days.”

“You have not- you haven’t told him?”

“I haven’t,” she promises. “I mean, up until literally two seconds ago-”

“That was at least twenty second ago.”

“-fine, jeez, whatever, twenty seconds ago- _point is_ , I didn’t know for certain. So even if I wanted to tell him, I couldn’t. I couldn’t confirm anything. But even now… I’m not gonna go telling on you, Caleb. Not about this. I know I’m an asshole, like, ninety percent of the time, but that’s too much of an asshole move even for me.”

Caleb gives a soft, tiny smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course. It’s just the right thing to do. But, if I can ask,” she adds quietly, “when did you figure it out? Your feelings for Molly?”

Caleb shrugs wretchedly. “A while ago,” he mutters. “We were, um… we… we went stargazing one night. He asked me if I could teach him the constellations.” _And I did_ , he thinks to himself. Even now he can still remember the warmth of Molly’s hand in his own as he’d pointed out all the stars of Orion above their heads. He can still remember the soft whispering of the trees and the sound of Molly’s breath. He can still remember the sight of Molly outlined against the stars, looking down at him with a smile so soft and so gentle that Caleb could only have smiled back.

He remembers all of it.

He remembers the tears in Molly’s eyes before he’d taken his hand and led him outside.

He remembers the sound of Infernal on his tongue.

“It was… it was nice,” he says softly. Before him, he can remember the moonlight painting the leaves silver. “Mollymauk was… he was missing home a bit, and so I offered to show him to stars to take his mind off of it, and it was nice. It was very nice.” He swallows. “I… I lent him my flannel, and I… _Gott_ , I don’t know how to- I just realised, you know? I looked over at him, and I realised what I was feeling, and that was… that was it.”

Beau’s face crumples slightly. “Oh, Caleb…”

“I know,” he says, lifting a hand to brush a loose strand of hair back behind his ear. “It is- it is silly, and childish, and-”

“It’s really sweet, actually.”

Caleb freezes. “… _Was_?”

“It’s really sweet,” Beau says, sounding almost defensive. “Look, I can think that things are cute, alright? And that’s- that’s proper fairytale shit, buddy. Like, _Disney_ movie levels of cute. I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me there were, like, birds and stuff. All singing. Or whatever it is they do in Disney movies.”

“They sing,” Caleb says faintly.

“Yeah, that then. It sounds all romantic.”

Caleb smiles, just a little bit. He supposes it was romantic, in a way. He doesn’t have a lot of experience with romance but he’s seen plenty of movies and read plenty of books, and he has to accept that, even if it probably didn’t mean anything to Molly, their night beneath the stars was definitely more than a little romantic. If Molly had felt the same way, maybe they could have done it again.

If Molly knew, maybe they still could.

_If Molly knew_.

Caleb swallows. He hasn’t- he’s been deliberately putting that thought off for a while now, but he knows that he has to face it. He knows that he has to ask.

“Do you- do you think he knows?” he asks softly. “How I- that I am- how I feel?”

Beau shrugs. “Honestly?” she says. “I don’t know. He might. He might know jack shit about our world, but he’s not dumb. He picks up on stuff pretty fast. Like, he figured out the TV pretty quickly.”

Caleb can feel his breath hitching, can feel his lungs squeezing. “But do you- about- do you think he knows about _this_? About… about my…” He can’t say it. He can’t admit it. Not again.

“About your painfully obvious crush?” Beau asks bluntly. Caleb tries not to wince, but it’s been said now. He can’t take it back. Beau clearly had her theories before; now it’s just a certainty. It’s fine. It’s _fine_. “I mean… look, Caleb, I really don’t know. Normally I can read people pretty good, but he’s tricky. He’s like, y’know… I don’t want to be rude or anything, but he is _literally_ a demon.” She shrugs, giving a short sigh. “But… yeah. I don’t know, maybe?

“Oh,” Caleb says quietly. “Oh.”

“I’m not saying that he does,” Beau hastens to add. “And honestly I can’t imagine he’d be that much of a dick about it if he did, but… it _is_ a possibility, Caleb. You’ve gotta accept that.”

“I know,” Caleb murmurs faintly, even as he feels his heart starting to squeeze. “I know.” He’s always known. Ever since he realised what he felt, ever since he recognised what it meant, he’s known. He’s always known that there’s a chance that Molly is aware of his feelings. He’s always known that there’s a chance that Molly knows, and does not feel the same way.

All the same, it hurts in a soft, unexpectedly painful way to hear it from someone else. Caleb gives a small sniff, feeling his throat starting to tighten as tears gather along his lashes, hot and heavy and awful. It’s stupid. This whole- his entire reaction is stupid, because of course Molly could know. He _knows_ that. He’s not stupid, and neither is Molly, and for all that he’s been trying his best to keep it under wraps, to hide his feelings from himself and Molly both, he knows that some of them have slipped through. After all, Beau saw. Beau realised. And Beau may have known him for longer than Molly has, but everything she saw was second-hand. She wasn’t there, comforting him in the middle of Trent’s visit. She wasn’t there, watching ridiculous penguin videos with Molly’s best friend.

She wasn’t there, watching the stars and sharing the echoing beauty with a demon who means more to Caleb than he could ever hope to articulate.

“Listen,” Beau says with a sigh. “I- I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Caleb, you know this-”

“ _Ja, ja_ , I know.”

“-and I don’t want to, y’know, be a dick or anything-”

“I know, Beauregard.”

“-but Molly… he…” Beau sighs, looking away. Caleb doesn’t watch. He just keeps staring down at his hands, twisting them together in his lap and squeezing them until his knuckles show white through his skin. He knows what Beau’s going to say. It’s a thought that he’s had himself, that he’s told to himself, that he’s thought over and over and over again because he has to, because he has to think it to remind himself of why he cannot take Molly’s hand, and pull him in, and kiss him.

“He has to go home,” he mutters quietly.

“Yeah,” Beau agrees. Her words, as they have been for this entire conversation, are almost uncharacteristically soft. “He does. Soon. You can’t keep putting it off anymore.”

“I haven’t been-”

“ _Caleb_.”

Caleb falls silent, ducking his head.

Across from his, Beau sighs again. “Look at me?” Caleb pauses, just for a moment, and then he does. He lifts his head, meeting her gaze, and knows that she can see the tears that are starting to gather. Her face falls a little. “Oh, buddy…” She reaches out, giving him a slightly awkward pat on the knee, and somehow the awkwardness of it makes Caleb smile a little. That, at least, is familiar. Beau’s never really been great at comfort beyond gentle, reassuring punches. “Caleb… don’t lie to yourself.”

“I’m not,” he objects quietly.

“You _are_ ,” she insists. “When was the last time you actually did research into this? I mean, like, _proper_ research, where you make a giant mind-map or whatever that covers the entire dining table?” She pauses, just for a moment, and catches his gaze. When she speaks again, her voice is soft. “You’re putting it off,” she repeats. “You know you are, Caleb, and you can’t keep doing that. It’s not fair to Molly; he doesn’t belong here. This isn’t his home. And it’s not fair to you, either.”

“I know,” he says. “I- I know, Beauregard. I am going to- I know that he needs to go home.” _I know that this cannot happen_. “I will- I will stop putting it off.” He hates saying those words. He hates it. He knows that he has to.

“Thank you,” Beau says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Caleb doesn’t have to ask for what. he knows.

“Caleb?” Beau adds softly. In the silence of the room, her question hangs like a noose.

Caleb swallows. He can feel tears pushing at his eyes, gathering in his throat, making his words feel thick and clumsy on his tongue. “ _J-ja_?”

“…Do you love him?”

_Do you love him_?

Caleb blinks. Behind his eyes all he can see is Mollymauk, outlined in starlight and painted with golden magic. Beau’s words echo through his head, twisting and mingling with his own thoughts until it is no longer her voice, but his own. _Do you love him, Caleb? Do you love Mollymauk?_

_Do I love him?_

He doesn’t know. Gods, but he doesn’t know. He can’t tell anymore, can’t decipher his feelings beyond the knowledge that he cares for Molly more deeply than he thinks he himself can even comprehend. He knows that he likes Molly, cares for Molly, wants him to be safe and happy and content and comfortable beyond anything else. He knows that seeing Molly smile makes his entire being feel lighter at the same time that it makes his heart squeeze with longing and heartache and _want_. He knows that he longs for the touch of Molly’s skin against his own, for the comfortable weight of Molly against his side, for the warmth of Molly’s arms around his body. He knows that he likes Molly, adores Molly, and that it is not just a physical thing anymore. Molly is gorgeous, yes, and stunning in such an incredible, otherworldly way that Caleb can barely process it, but that feels almost secondary, now. Molly’s looks pale next to his smile, and his smile pales next to everything else about him.

_Do I love him?_

It’s a horrible question, a terrible question, and it is horrible and terrible because he thinks he knows the answer. The answer lies in starlight, in moonlight, in the flickering shadows of the television and the feeling of Molly’s tail around his ankle. It lies in the quiet moments, in the liminal spaces. It lies in watching Molly’s fingers run over the spine of the book that means so much to him. It lies in Molly hearing, and listening, and understanding. It lies in Molly playing with Frumpkin, and in Molly making him coffee despite his own hatred of it, because he knows how much Caleb likes it.

Inside his chest, behind the safe caging of his ribs, Caleb feels his heart beating as steadily as it always has, and knows the answer. He knows that Molly has settled himself within his heart as surely and as certainly as if he has been there all his life, and that no matter what, part of Molly will always be there.

_Oh_ , he thinks to himself. In his head, Beau’s question rings out again. _Oh_.

“Caleb?” Beau asks softly. She reaches out, settling a hand on his knee, and gives a small shake. “Caleb? You alright? You’ve gone a bit pale.”

“Hm?” he hums quietly, still lost in his own head. He can taste incense and spice on his tongue, can feel it settling in his lungs like smoke. “Mm, _ja_.”

“You gonna answer me?”

He doesn’t reply to that. He doesn’t want to lie to Beau but at the same time he cannot say this aloud. Not now. Not ever.

His silence is answer enough, though. Beau’s smart, smarter than she seems to many, and Caleb knows it. He knows how perceptive she is, and after a few seconds she gives another soft, quiet, sigh. “Caleb…”

“It’s alright,” he says, his voice just as quiet. “I am- I am not…” _I am not in love with Mollymauk_ , he tries to say, but the words get caught on his tongue.

To her credit, Beau doesn’t say anything clever this time. She just pats him on the knee, her touch warm and familiar, and gives another soft sigh. “Alright,” she says. “I- alright, Caleb. Okay.” She pats his knee again and then reaches up, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to jostle him. “You’ll get through this,” she says reassuringly. “You’re tough.”

“I’m really not-”

“Not physically,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Just, like, mentally and shit. And I know this is really shitty, and that it sucks, but it’s for the best. You know that, right?”

“ _Ja_ ,” he says. “ _Ja_ , I know.”

“Good.” She shifts and stands, sliding off the bed and padding over to the door. “Now,” she adds, with more understanding in her voice than many would expect from her, “I’m gonna piss off and leave you to all your feelings and stuff, because I know how much you hate people knowing that you actually feel things, okay?”

Even through his gathering tears, Caleb can feel himself smile. “Okay,” he whispers.

She nods, reaching out to the door and opening it, but she only takes one step through before she pauses, turning around to face him again. “And, Caleb?” Caleb looks up at her. Through the tears in his eyes her form looks soft and fuzzy, but he still knows that, on her face, there’s almost certainly her small, reassuring smile. “It’s going to be alright.”

He does his best to muster a smile. “ _Ja_ ,” he says quietly. “I hope so.”

Beau pauses for another moment and then nods, stepping back into the hallway and shutting the door behind her. After a few seconds Caleb hears the muffled sound of conversation out in the hallway – he rises quietly, crossing to lean against the wall besides the door, but he can’t make out anything. He just knows that he can recognise Beau’s voice.

He just knows that he can recognise Molly’s voice.

He feels a sob climbing in his throat and forces it back down, sliding down the wall until he’s sitting at the base of it. He hopes Beau hasn’t told Molly anything. Logically he knows that she wouldn’t, that she would never dare to break his trust like that, but the fear is still there. It is bad enough knowing that there’s a chance that Molly already knows how he feels – to have that confirmed, to know for certain that Molly has seen and recognised his feelings and has chosen to do nothing about it… Caleb doesn’t know what he’d do with that. He doesn’t know what he’d do with the absolute, certain knowledge that his feelings are unrequited. He knows that they are, is entirely absolutely sure that they are, but it’s a different feeling to certainty, and while he has not heard it directly from Molly himself, his heart will refuse to give up that one tiny, warm ember of hope.

Of longing.

Of love.

In the silence of his bedroom, Caleb Widogast lifts his hands to his face, presses them over his eyes, and tries not to cry.

\---

Unbeknownst to Caleb, or to Beau, at the other end of the hallway to them a very similar conversation to theirs was going on as they spoke.

“Take a seat,” Nott says, gesturing towards her blanket- and pillow-covered bed as the door shuts behind Molly. She clambers up onto it, making herself comfortable, and waits as Molly does the same, finding a place to tuck himself in amongst the magpie’s nest of sequined throw cushions that Nott calls her bed. It can be tricky, he’s found, to locate a space in Nott’s room that _isn’t_ covered with something sparkly or holding something explosive, but he’s had practise by now. He can figure it out.

“What’s this about?” he asks with a slight frown, crossing his legs and generally making himself comfortable. “Have you got a new project that you want to talk about, or-”

“Caleb,” Nott interrupts, and that one word is enough to make Molly fall silent immediately. “This is- I wanted to talk to you about Caleb.”

_Oh_. Molly freezes, just for a second, and his gaze meets Nott’s. There’s no anger in her eyes, no distrust in her posture, but all the same, he feels nervous. Nott is far sharper, far more intuitive than many people give her credit for, and in that single, frozen moment, Molly realises that he is one of those people.

How much has Nott seen? How much has she noticed? How many times has she caught Molly’s eye just moments after he’s been staring after Caleb like a love-struck fool? How often has she wandered into the room when he’s been relaxing in the window seat as Caleb worked, his tail wrapped lazily around his ankle, or his calf, or, on one occasion, his wrist, the tips trailing lazily back and forth over the skin as Caleb had tried not to smile? How many times has she patiently helped Molly to make coffee or tea for Caleb until he’d finally figured out how to use all of the appliances himself?

He thinks back to yesterday, when Nott had entered the living room to help them set up the TV and the tablet. He’d been flopped against Caleb’s side by then, not quite in his lap but well on the way to it, and his tail had been wrapped close around Caleb’s ankle, his chin resting on Caleb’s shoulder. Nott had given him a look, just for a second, as she’d taken the tablet from him; it had been an assessing look, he realises now, one that had taken in everything about the situation and filed it away for later.

Now, it seems, is that later.

He can feel worry start crawling over his skin, settling in along his nerves and setting them to tingling. For a second his tail twitches, the tip raising and falling on the bed in a clear tiefling demon sign of stress or concern, and as he watches Nott’s gaze darts to it before returning to observing him. He knows that she doesn’t know what it means, not really. As far as she could know, he might be thinking that they’re about to plan some wonderful surprise.

But Nott isn’t stupid, and Molly isn’t either.

All the same, he tries not to let his sudden concern show.

“Oh?” he asks, in his best nonchalant tone. “What about Caleb? Is he alright?”

Nott’s eyes narrow. “He’s fine,” she says, in a tone that very strongly implies that she didn’t fall for Molly’s ploy in the slightest. “I actually wanted to talk about you and him. Together.”

Molly keeps smiling. It feels uncomfortable on his face, thin and sharp and forced, but he keeps it up anyway. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t want to face it. “Yeah? I mean, I’m not sure what you’re getting at here, Nott, Caleb is-”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” she snaps, but despite the force behind it her voice is soft, almost concerned. “Are you two- are you, you know… are you…” She waves her hands vaguely, eventually trailing off into silence. Molly continues to frown, more than a little bit confused but at the same time vaguely aware of what she might be trying to imply, in an indirect sort of way. Nott sighs, scratching absently at her arm, and then looks up at him. “What’s going on?” she asks, her voice quieter than Molly had expected. “Between you and Caleb?”

Molly swallows. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says weakly.

Nott glares at him. “ _Molly_.”

“I _don_ ’t-”

“You do.”

“I _don’t,_ Nott, I really don’t,” he says all in a rush. “Trust me, I wish I did. I wish I knew, okay? I wish that I knew exactly what was going on in that man’s head because then I could- I could-…” He falls silent, abruptly aware of the sharp, piercing nature of Nott’s gaze. He feels stripped bare, like she’s looking directly into his mind and thoughts and has found the thoughts that she’s uncovered to be lacking in something. “He’s my friend,” he says eventually. “He’s- at least, I like to think that he’s my friend. He’s a very good man, and I- I like him.” _I like him a lot_.

Nott gives a small, thoughtful hum. “How much?” she asks quietly, glancing away. “How much do you like Caleb?”

“I don’t know what you mean-”

“I’ve seen how you look at him,” she interrupts, her voice just as soft and as quiet as before, and in the silence of her bedroom, her words seem to cut the air like a knife. In her words, Molly thinks he hears something almost akin to pity. “I’ve- I’ve seen it before in other people, and I know that I’ve looked at people like that myself. But never very many people, you know? Only people I’ve felt a certain way about.” She looks back up at him, her fingers fiddling absently with the sequins that adorn the cushion next to her. “Molly?”

“…Yeah?”

“Do you… do you like Caleb? In the, you know…” She trails off, clearly thinking for a moment, and then continues. “Do you _like_ him? In a romantic sort of way.”

Molly doesn’t know. He opens his mouth, ready to deflect the question, to deny his feelings, but then he stops, because… well, because he does like Caleb. He really, really does. And he knows that, has known that for a while, has known it ever since he looked at Caleb bathed in starlight, his freckles a constellation across his skin, and realised exactly what he felt, but this…

This is more than that, now.

This is much, much more, and it’s only now that he’s starting to realise exactly what he’s feeling.

Does he like Caleb in a romantic way? Yes. Yes, absolutely. That’s not an argument, not anymore. He knows that he does. He knows that he wants to kiss Caleb, and hold his hand, and wrap his tail around his waist in a manner that he’s always found a bit gross and over the top to see in public, but which suddenly feels like just the right amount of sappy affection. He wants to play with Caleb’s hair, and press kisses to his cheeks, and spend as much time with him as he can, in whatever form that takes. He wants to talk to Caleb for hours, and listen to him get all excited about magic and cats, and watch the laugh lines gathering at the corners of his eyes and the excited motion of his hands.

He wants to hold Caleb, and be held back.

He wants Caleb in his life.

He doesn’t think he wants Nott to know all of that. These feelings, awful and hopeless as they are, are nevertheless _his_. He doesn’t have a lot of lived years that he can call his own, not really, but what he feels is his, and he doesn’t want to share it. To share it would be to make it someone else’s, would be to make it tangible and no longer secret, and he doesn’t want that.

But he trusts Caleb, though. He trusts Caleb more than he thinks he trusts anyone else, save except for Yasha. He trusts Caleb, and Caleb trusts Nott, and that means that he can trust Nott too.

He can trust her with this.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, I… I think I do.”

“Are you going to do anything about it?”

It’s an unexpected question. Molly looks up at Nott with a frown, wrapping his tail around his wrist in an absent-minded, comforting gesture. “What?”

“Are you going to do anything about it?” she asks again. Her voice is perfectly calm, and so level that it’s almost unnerving. “Are you going to tell him?”

“No.” There’s no hesitation in his answer. “I don’t- I don’t want to ruin anything, Nott. I don’t even- I don’t know how he feels about me, and I don’t want to force anything, so… no.” He doesn’t mention the fear, and hope, and longing all twisted up in his chest. He doesn’t mention how much he longs to reach out, and take Caleb’s hand, and draw him into a kiss. He doesn’t mention any of that.

Nott gives a slow, thoughtful nod. “Alright…” she says. “That’s- okay, alright. I mean, if I’m honest, and I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, Molly, I promise… I don’t know if telling him would do anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen how you look at him,” Nott says easily. “And I’ve seen how he is, um, around you. And then, y’know… Caleb is very intelligent. If I’ve noticed you looking at him, then I’m sure he has too.”

“Oh,” Molly says quietly. In his chest, he thinks he can feel his heart starting to sink. “Do you- do you think Caleb has realised? That I- that I like him?”

Nott shrugs. “Probably,” she says. “He’s very smart.”

“Oh,” Molly says again.

“He knows a lot of things, you know.”

“I know.” Even to his own ears, his words sound hollow and distant. _Caleb knows_. Caleb knows about his crush, and about his feelings, and about- about _everything_. Of _course_ Caleb knows! Now that Nott’s said it, it seems so obvious. Caleb is smart. He’s incredibly smart, in a really quite horrifically attractive way, and he’s perceptive, and bright, and he probably knows all about tiefling tail language, really. Molly can feel his face flushing purple as the realisation hits him. Caleb knows. Caleb’s known this whole time.

Caleb has known about Molly’s crush from the first moment that it settled around his heart, and he has done absolutely nothing.

“Oh,” Molly says again, quieter than before. The word is faint, soft and whispered and just barely on the edge of hearing, but Nott hears it all the same. She leans forwards, patting him gently on the knee, and gives him a small, understanding smile. “I- oh.”

“I know,” Nott says softly. “I’m sorry, Molly.”

Molly gives a small hum. He doesn’t know what else to say, can’t think what else to say beyond the awful, sinking, aching feeling in his chest. _Caleb knows_ , he says to himself again, and the words are tinged with a horrible, love-sick sorrow. _Caleb does not feel the same way_.

All the same, he cannot crush down a tiny, _stupid_ glimmer of hope. He knows what hope is; hope, especially in these situations, is merely playing a game of statistics that you have already lost. It’s pleading to a chain devil, checking for a lost key in a pocket that you’ve already emptied out five times.

It’s wishing on a star, he thinks to himself, and remembers looking down at Caleb cushioned in the grass, the witch’s flannel warm around his shoulders and Caleb’s eyes the darkest, purest blue Molly had ever seen, shining so brightly beneath the stars that they seemed to contain the universe itself. Hope had been that moment, that night. It had been Caleb’s hand in his own, and Caleb’s words woven through with the song of the stars, and a fruitless, useless dream.

He can feel his eyes starting to grow damp. He gives a small sniff, hoping to pass it off as anything but the beginnings of tears, but Nott’s gaze snaps up to meet his immediately, soft and curious and then, the moment she recognises what’s happening, quietly sad. She looks sad. She looks sad for _him_.

Molly hates it.

Nott looks away, still fiddling with the sequined cushion. Her fingers run over the surface of it, flipping the sequins one way and then the other, revealing tiny glimpses on the pattern visible on either side. “I’m sorry,” she says again, the words murmured. “He- Caleb’s a good man, you know.”

“I know,” Molly replies. He can hear the thickness in his own voice, the heaviness weighing on the words.

“He wouldn’t want to hurt you, Molly.”

Molly swallows around the tears in his throat. “I- I know.”

“It’s just…” Nott trails off with a sigh and for a moment she looks motherly, almost, like she’s older than her lived years. “You’re going to be going home at some point, Molly. You’re a good person, and a good friend, but, in the nicest way possible, you don’t belong here.”

“I know.” _I know. I know, I know, I know_. The same two words, looping through his head over and over. _You have to go home. I know. You do not belong here. I know._

_Caleb does not feel for you._

_I know._

Molly shuts his eyes, and, after a moment’s thought, closes four of them entirely. It is easier like this. It is easier not to have to see the intrinsic proof of Caleb’s magic woven through the building. It is easier not to be able to see, to sense, to feel that soft golden-amber hum that is so familiar now that’s it’s become a sensation unanimous with _safety_. Caleb’s magic means safety to him now. It means home. It means comfort, and security, and space to be himself, far from home as he might be.

He lifts one hand, and runs his fingers over the woven band of twine that still rests around his wrist. Even after the zoo trip, he hadn’t taken it off again. He hadn’t wanted to. For all that it keeps him controlled and contained it still feels important to him, precious in a way that he doesn’t know how to describe; it’s a sign of his trust to Caleb, that he will let Caleb confine him and his magic, and that he will do so willingly. He knows now, knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if he were to ask Caleb to remove it that Caleb would do so immediately. He knows that Caleb trusts him to no longer wear the bracelet.

Caleb trusts him.

Caleb likes him.

He knows that. He _knows_ that, as surely as he knows his own name. Caleb must like him. He has to. He may not like him as much as Molly likes him back, but, at the very least, Caleb seems to consider them friends.

He considers them friends, and Molly never, ever wants to lose that. He cannot risk it. He cannot risk revealing his feelings to Caleb in the blind, absurd hope that Caleb feels even a shadow of them in return; he knows that Caleb would not hate him, would not loathe him for this ridiculous attachment and attraction that he’s formed, but he can so easily imagine Caleb politely distancing himself. He can imagine Caleb seeing his affection, and his closeness, and now, with the absolutely certainty of understanding, no longer wanting it. Molly could handle that. He _knows_ he could handle it. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s had a crush rejected, and he knows that it’ll hurt, but, ultimately, it will be ok.

But, he realises with a slowly dawning horror, this isn’t just a crush. Not anymore. This is something deeper, and something stronger, and in that moment he knows, knows beyond certainty, that if Caleb were to realise the true depths of his feelings, were to realise what was resting in Molly’s heart, then whatever friendship they have would be destroyed. It is one thing to share a home with someone who has a crush on you. It is another thing entirely to share space with someone who loves you, and whom you do not love back.

And that makes it so, so much worse.

Molly could handle acquaintances. He could handle grudging housemates. He could handle sniping, annoyed, bickering enemies. And he could handle any of those because, if his relationship with Caleb was one of those, then he would know for certain that his crush is an impossibility. If it was clear that Caleb didn’t like him and only saw him as an annoyance, then he could put his crush to rest. He could forget his feelings, ignore them until they were swamped by Caleb’s distrust and dislike.

But Caleb doesn’t hate him. He doesn’t even dislike him.

Behind the darkness of his closed lids, Molly remembers holding Caleb on the couch. He remembers Caleb trembling against his front, remembers the tears soaking into his shirt. He remembers the trust, and the closeness, and that draw and drive and determination to _help_ , to make things better, to reassure Caleb that he was safe and protected and okay. He remembers thinking fleetingly, stupidly, that his feelings might be returned.

He remembers crushing that hope down.

On his knee, a tiny hand gives another soft pat.

“I’m sorry,” Nott says again. “Really, Molly, I am.”

Molly draws in a breath, and feels it rattling hollowly in his lungs. _I know_ , he thinks, but does not say. “Yeah,” he says instead. The word is little more than a whisper. Little more than a breath. “I- I am too.”

“You get it though, yeah?”

“I do.” There are tears in his eyes, in his throat. He can’t let them fall. Not now.

“… I’m sorry.”

“’S alright.”

Nott pats his knee again. “You’ll be home soon,” she says quietly, as if it’s any kind of consolation. Molly doesn’t say, _I don’t want to_. He doesn’t say, _I want to stay here_. He doesn’t say, _I don’t want to leave without telling Caleb how I feel_. “You’ll be home soon, and you’ll get to hang out with Yasha, and I’m sure you’ll find a nice creepy demon man with seventeen eyes and three tails who you’ll get a crush on.” She pauses, and then adds, “Or a lovely demon lady. I don’t know who you’re into. I don’t want to assume anything.”

Molly laughs a little at that, just barely. If only it was just a crush. If only. “Thank you, Nott.”

“Of course.” For a moment, there’s just silence, and then she continues. “Anyway… I’m just going to… I have things I need to get to, so…”

Molly can spot an indication to leave when one arises. He nods, standing a little shakily, and starts moving towards the door. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I’m- yeah. I’ll just-” He gestures vaguely towards the door, and Nott gives him a little smile.

“You’ll be alright,” she says softly. Molly just nods. He doesn’t have any words left.

He reaches out, turns the door handle, and steps out into the hallway. There’s no one there but he throws a quick glamour up all the same, just enough to hide any indication of sadness on his face. Nott knowing how he feels is bad enough. He doesn’t need anyone else to see the lingering teartracks, or to potentially realise that his eyes are a richer red than usual. He doesn’t need any of that.

He takes a breath, shutting his eyes just for a moment, and then starts walking down the hallway towards his own room. As he approaches his door, now long since decorated with a sequin and glitter-adorned sign that he had made one delightful evening with Nott as Beau and Caleb had looked on with matching expressions of horror, he starts hearing soft, murmured voices coming from Caleb’s room. A moment later there’s the soft sound of the door opening, and as he watches Beau walks out, pausing to say something over her shoulder.

“Caleb?” she’s saying, her voice barely carrying even in the silent hallway. “You’ll be alright.”

Caleb says something but Molly can’t make it out, and shortly after that Beau turns, shutting the door to Caleb’s room behind her. She doesn’t react when she sees Molly, just giving him a short nod as she walks towards the stairs.

“Hey,” she says.

Molly gives her a smile. It’s a fake one, but it’s very, very good. He knows that for a fact. “’Hey’ yourself, Beau.”

She pauses, one hand on the banister, and frowns at him, just a little. “…You alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m all good.” He waves a hand, tilting his head towards his room. “Just, y’know…”

Beau’s eyes narrow, just for a moment, but after a second her face clears and she gives a shrug. “Alright,” she says. “Anyway, I’m heading out. Don’t go causing any trouble while I’m gone, alright?”

Molly places a hand over his heart, the action practically reflex. He’s not there, not really. He’s still thinking about Nott, and Nott’s words, and about Caleb. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh-huh, sure you wouldn’t.”

“Twist my tail.”

Beau gives a short huff of laughter, rolling her eyes as she starts heading downstairs. “Weirdo,” she mutters, but it’s not an insult.

“Grumpy asshole,” Molly calls after her, and he hears her laugh before the door opens and then closes with a slam.

And then it’s just him, standing alone on the hallway landing, and all of a sudden the house seems very big, and very quiet, and very, very lonely. He takes the last few steps to his bedroom door and reaches out, turning the doorknob with a hand that’s only barely not trembling.

He doesn’t make it to his bed. He drops to the floor the moment the door shuts behind him, half-turning to lean back against the wall. He pulls his knees up, curling his tail around them, and presses his face against his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as, for the first time since talking to Nott, he lets himself cry properly.

“Fuck,” he whispers, feeling the tears rolling down his cheeks. They sting against his eyes, tasting like bitter salt against his tongue, but that sensation is secondary to the awful, _awful_ feeling in his chest. He knew this was the case, _knew_ that Caleb didn’t like him back, but to hear it implied so heavily by Caleb’s closest friend hurts in a way that he couldn’t have imagined. It’s like his very arteries have been filled up with lead, pulling him down until it feels like his ribcage might shatter from the weight of it. It _hurts_. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers again, and he squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

Unbeknownst to him, on the other side of the wall, Caleb is doing something similar. He’s leaning against the wall with his head rested back against it, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance as soft, silent tears roll unhindered down his cheeks. He’s fidgeting, a small coil of magic disappearing and reappearing between his fingers, and occasionally his chest twitches as he tries to keep his tears at bay. It’s a stupid thing to be crying about, and he knows it, but he can’t make it stop. There’s no good reason to be crying about what he knew was a fantasy in the first place, but the tears don’t seem to know that – they just keep coming, making his heart squeeze and twist and his lungs jerk with ugly, silent sobs.

_Not for you_ , he tells himself silently, and he presses his nails against his palm, snuffing the magic from existence. _Never for you_.

In two separate rooms, in two separate bodies, two hearts mourn what could have been.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art of Molly in this chapter was done by [heidzdraws](https://twitter.com/heidzdraws)!
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on April 22nd!


	16. Chapter 16

Nothing changes, and that is perhaps the worst outcome.

When Molly leaves his room an hour or so later, worn out and wrung dry and exhausted from crying, he doesn’t plan to go looking for Caleb. He’d heard Caleb’s bedroom door open and shut maybe ten minutes before he’d decided to leave his own room, and he knows that he really shouldn’t go looking for the man he loves who doesn’t love him back, but he can’t help himself. Almost without his permission, his feet carry him to the door of Caleb’s office, the path so familiar to him now that he could walk it in his sleep. His footsteps are quiet in the still, near-silent house, barely audible even to his sharper tiefling ears, and just beyond the half-open door he can hear the soft sounds of pages turning and pens scratching. They’re the sounds of Caleb at work, as he so often is.

Molly pauses, one hand halfway to pushing the door open. _Leave it_ , his mind whispers. _Leave him alone. You know he doesn’t like you; there’s no point in disturbing him when he’s working, you’re just going to be an annoyance. Don’t be rude_.

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it. On the other side of the door, there’s a sound like a soft sigh.

 _Leave it_ , he tells himself again. _Leave Caleb alone_.

 _Leave your feelings alone_.

He knows he should. He knows that the sensible thing to do right now would be to go to the living room, or back to his room, and distract himself however he can so that he can start dismantling this crush (and it will be easier, he feels, if he keeps on calling it that). He knows that the sensible thing to do would be to distance himself from Caleb, minimising interaction with him and generally spending less time with him, so that he doesn’t have to keep feeling the dull, persistent ache in his chest.

He knows all of that.

And he doesn’t do it.

Between one breath and the next Molly pushes the door open, the hinges giving a soft creak of protest, and steps inside. Caleb doesn’t look up from what he’s doing and for a moment Molly lets himself simply admire him. The witch is sitting at his desk, hunched over a large, open tome, and he’s frowning, creating a perfect little dimple between his eyebrows that Molly so badly wants to smooth away. The morning sunlight drifting through the gauze curtains is soft and gentle on his skin, highlighting his freckles and the scruff of his beard, and at the open collar of his shirt, Molly can see the chain of the ever-present Archeart pendant shining softly in the light. The room smells of old books and dust and magic; it smells of bonfires and woodsmoke, of glowing amber and warm coffee and hot tea, made sweet just how Caleb likes it. It smells of Caleb, and it feels like his magic, the sensation of it enveloping Molly like a lover’s embrace, and, above all, it feels like home.

Caleb feels like home.

Molly doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what he _wants_ to do. He just knows that, as much as he would like to, he can’t keep staring, and so after another few seconds he gently clears his throat, opens his mouth, and speaks.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning against the doorframe. Caleb glances up, his face breaking into a small smile when he lays eyes on Molly, and, down by his feet, Molly feels his tail give a small, delighted twitch. _Stupid_ , he tells himself, even as he feels his heart squeeze. _Stupid to get so attached. He doesn’t even like you. You know this_.

Caleb’s gaze flickers down, just for a moment, and his smile widens. “ _Hallo_ ,” he says quietly. When he looks back at Molly, Molly can see something in his eyes. He wishes he knew what it was. He wishes he knew what Caleb was thinking. “Are you alright, Mollymauk?”

Molly shakes himself. “Hm? Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I was just…” He trails off, looking quickly around the room. “I was…” Why _was_ he here? Even now, leaning against the wall just inside the room, he doesn’t really know. Habit, he supposes. Habit strong enough to take him to the door of Caleb’s office, for all that he’s been on this plane for, what, a few months? If that? It’s no time at all in the grand scheme of things and yet here he is all the same, standing in a witch’s office with a containment circle woven into the twine around his wrist that he himself offered to keep on. It’s stupid. It’s more than stupid; it’s foolish, and it’s dangerous, and it’s everything that a demon shouldn’t do. He shouldn’t be here, still dressed in comfy pyjama pants with a hole cut at the back for his tail and one of Caleb’s old t-shirts. He shouldn’t be as comfortable as he is, with the smell of Caleb and his magic so close about him, brushing up alongside his own magic as if in greeting. He shouldn’t be happy here.

He shouldn’t be hoping to, some day, return to this plane again.

Why is he here? To see Caleb, more than anything, because even if he knows that Caleb doesn’t feel for him the same way that he does, he still wants to see him. He still wants to see Caleb, and enjoy his presence, and just exist around him, sharing space and trading the occasional word but mostly just being nearby.

 _Stupid_ , he mutters to himself in the safety of his own head. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_.

“I was,” he says again, and this time he manages to think of something. “I was wondering if you wanted some tea. I didn’t see you finish yours at breakfast, and I know how much you like to have tea or coffee on hand while getting your research or commissions done, so…” He trails off, giving a weak shrug _. You’re pathetic, Tealeaf_.

Across from him Caleb’s face lights up in a smile, and Molly’s heart hurts so much that he wants to fucking _cry_.

“Oh!” Caleb says. “Oh, _ja_ , that would be lovely. Thank you, Mollymauk. That is very kind of you.”

Molly nods. “Great!” he says, trying to force some degree of enthusiasm into his voice. “I’ll just- I’m going to assume you want your breakfast brew.”

“If you don’t mind…”

“Not at all, love. I’ll probably make myself up a mug and come join you, if you’re not working on anything too terribly top secret.”

Caleb gives a short laugh, shaking his head. “Ah, no, this is- this is not for a client.”

“Oh?” Molly raises an eyebrow and leans in a little, as if trying to peer over Caleb’s shoulder even from this distance. “What is it?”

“It is, ah, personal research,” Caleb says, and somehow, in those few words, his tone seems to shift a bit. It doesn’t become sad, or upset, or annoyed. It just becomes… well, Molly can only think to call it _emptier_. He sounds hollow, in a strange way, like he doesn’t quite want to be doing what he’s doing but has to all the same. It’s odd.

Molly gives a short hum, leaning back, and takes a step back through the door. “Ah,” he says knowingly, “nerd stuff. Got it.”

“You’ve got to stop talking to Beau so much,” Caleb mutters, and though there’s amusement to his voice the hollowness is still there. If anything, it’s stronger now.

Molly tries not to let it get to him. “As I’ve already said, darling; she can’t corrupt me any more than the Hells already have.”

“That seems a bit harsh to your home.”

“Hey, if anyone is allowed to insult where I came from, it should be me,” Molly points out. “We don’t even have good tea there. Not like your special blend. And speaking of, I’m going to go make that now. I’ll be back in a bit.” He steps back, just crossing the threshold to the room, and as he turns to leave Caleb gives him one last smile.

“Thank you, _Liebling_ ,” he calls after him, and Molly can’t help the small, unseen smile that crosses his face.

“Of course, _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ_.” The Infernal falls from his tongue almost without him noticing, but the moment he realises what he said he freezes in the doorway. _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ._ He’d called Caleb _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ,_ and he hadn’t even noticed it.

 _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ._ A phrase reserved not for lovers, not necessarily, but for partners, for heart-companions, for the one or ones who live alongside your soul. It is for your nearest and dearest: for those you love more than family, more than friends. For those not who are yours, but for whom you are theirs. He’s heard people say it before, of course, but never lightly. Never without meaning to. It is not an endearment like _⩙_ _ᗇѨ_ _ᱡ_ is, to be given as easily and as freely as you please. _⩙_ _ᗇѨ_ _ᱡ_ he says as easily as breathing – he says it to Yasha, and to Calianna, and to the Pumats and to Caduceus and to storekeepers and to people who annoy him, just to spite them. He says it to Nott, and to Beau, and to Caleb. It’s an easy word. It’s simple.

 _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ_ is not _._ As far as he knows, there is no true translation for it, not really. The closest, he supposes, would be _my love_ , but that’s not what it means, not at all. The root of it does mean _love_ , yes, but the secondary part, the indication of ownership, is not _mine_. It is not a love that you have, that you possess.

The second part of it, the _ᖨᗇ,_ means _yours_.

 _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱ_ _ᗄ’_ _ᖨᗇ_ is the love that you give to someone else. It is the love that you offer up with your entire heart, and that you never need think about being returned, because the returning of it is not the point. The returning of it doesn’t matter. You give it freely because you want to, and because you must.

And Molly had just unthinkingly, unerringly, said it to Caleb.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks to himself. _Fucking damn it_.

He wishes with all his heart that Caleb knows what it means.

At the exact same time, he hopes just as strongly that Caleb will never learn its meaning.

“That’s a new one,” he hears Caleb say from behind him. “I don’t think I’ve heard you say that before.”

Molly shuts his eyes, just for a moment. He can’t- he can’t just leave the conversation now. He _can’t_. To leave would be to indicate that something about the phrase was unusual or strange, something worth noticing and he can’t- he _can’t_ let Caleb know what it means. He can’t. Not this. Not now.

Not ever.

He takes a breath, schooling his features into something suitably neutral, and then turns back around to face Caleb. Caleb, damn him, is half-turned in his chair, one arm resting on the back of it, and he’s got a small, curious little half-smile tugging on his lips, making his whole face seem softer. He looks so soft. He looks so soft, and so handsome, and so utterly relaxed and comfortable that Molly just wants to stride up to him and kiss him, for no other reason than for being him.

But he can’t.

He knows he can’t.

“Haven’t I?” he asks breezily instead. “Oh, well, now I have.”

Caleb gives a small hum. “It sounds nice,” he remarks absently, and just to hear that hurts.

Molly swallows down the tightness in his throat. “Y-yeah?”

“Mm, _ja_.” Caleb smiles at Molly. “Infernal is a very interesting language, Mollymauk, and it sounds quite nice in your voice.”

He can’t- he _can’t_. He can’t handle this. He can’t process it. All he can do is let it wash over him, and past him, and then forget that it ever happened. “Well, I’m glad you find my native language interesting, Mr Caleb.”

“I would like to learn more of it one day,” Caleb replies, and for the space of a second that same, hollow tone touches his voice and settles into his face. Molly wishes that he knew what it was. He wishes that he knew what Caleb was thinking.

“Well, maybe after we’ve both had some tea I can teach you some more,” he offers instead of saying anything ridiculous like, _I can tell when there’s something on your mind and I want to help_. “So I’ll be back in a bit, and I can teach you some more Infernal then, alright?”

Caleb smiles a little wider. “Alright,” he says, and Molly nods, still smiling, and then he turns tail and leaves.

He goes to the kitchen. He makes Caleb his tea almost in a daze, picking Caleb’s favourite mug from the shelf with thoughtless hands, and makes himself a mug almost as an afterthought. The mug he picks out is a novelty one patterned with peacocks – Caleb had picked it out for him at the zoo souvenir shop, showing it to Molly with a smirk so tiny and so goddamn _attractive_ that Molly wouldn’t have been able to turn the gift down even if he’d wanted to. He drops the teabags in, pours the water, and leaves them to steep as he gathers milk and sugar. He makes the tea just how he knows Caleb likes it, makes the other mug up for himself, and then he takes them through.

He teaches Caleb Infernal in the late spring sunlight. He teaches him how to say _thank you_ \- _ᖨᗇ_ _ᖧᗄᗑ_ _ᱡ’_ _ᗄ_ \- and his language’s closest word to _tea_ , and then he teaches Caleb _ᘾᗄᗑᘸᖨ_ _ᚱ_ _ᗖ_ , his favourite insult, and delights in how the words sound when softened by Caleb’s accent. Caleb’s accent sounds so good wrapped around the Infernal syllables, softening them and turning them rich and heady like syrup on his tongue. Molly wants to hear them. He wants to taste them.

He doesn’t want to leave, he realises, watching as Caleb, still flushed from laughing at his own stumbles over the words, frowns to himself and repeats the word again. He catches Molly staring and gives a small, half-abashed smile, lifting a hand to run it through his hair.

“Did I get it completely wrong?” he asks. Molly just about wants to drown in his voice, in his presence, in his everything.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, Caleb, you’re doing just fine.”

Caleb smiles at him, soft and happy, and goes back to repeating the words over and over again.

It’s like everything is normal, like nothing has changed at all.

And that breaks Molly’s heart, in a way, because everything has changed.

\---

Three days later, Jester arrives unexpectedly at the house.

“Caleb!” she squeals delightedly when Caleb opens the door, flinging herself at him in a tight, crushing, one-armed hug. Caleb barely has the mind to wheeze as he pats her on the back, only distantly aware of something large and rectangular and solid digging into his stomach, caught between them by the hug.

“ _Hallo_ ,” he says weakly, his lungs still more than a little bit compressed by Jester’s arm. Jester squeezes him again, making him wheeze once more, and then lets him go, stepping back with a broad smile.

“Hi!” she says. “I have a present for you!”

Caleb frowns a little. He’s pretty certain he can already tell what the present is, and he can tell because Jester is holding it. Held carefully in one arm is a thick, heavy-looking, leather-bound tome. Even without inspecting it closely Caleb can tell that it’s arcane; he can practically see the magic emanating off it in waves, shining like silver dust in the overcast sunlight, and everything about it feels old, like hundreds of years compressed into paper.

He has no idea where Jester got it.

“ _Ja_?” he asks, stepping aside and wordlessly letting her into the house. “What is it?”

“Well… You know those people I told you I was going to talk to, ages and ages and _ages_ ago when Molly first arrived?” Jester asks, stepping into the house as Caleb shuts the door behind her.

Caleb frowns a little more. “ _Ja…_ ” he says cautiously, just a little bit unsure of where the conversation is headed. He knows where he thinks it’s headed. The conversation was a while ago, too long ago for his memory to keep it sharp and perfect in his mind, but he vaguely recalls what Jester offered. He vaguely recalls what help she was trying to get.

Jester, impossibly, smiles even wider. “ _Well_ ,” she says, like she’s letting him in on some great secret, “one of them actually came through! This wizard, Bryce – I know them through Beau, they’re _really cool_ – they had this old book, and they said they’d look for it because it might have something useful in it, and they found it, and it _did_!” She thrusts the book at him, practically vibrating in place like she’s trying not to actively bounce off the walls. “We can do it, Caleb! _You_ can do it! You can send Molly home!”

 _Oh_.

“Oh,” Caleb says, “oh, that is, that is-”

“Super cool, I know! I finally did it! It took _so_ long but I found the right person, and I- and I bribed them with pastries, and I did all my _super cool_ investigating work, and then Bryce agreed to lend me their book! I didn’t even have to say _anything_ about Molly, or you, or about any of this really!” Jester beams at him, practically bouncing in place, and then holds the book out to him. “Go on!” she says. “Take it!”

Caleb takes it.

The leather is cool beneath his fingers, pitted and worn but supple like it’s been cared for well, and he can feel the centuries-old magic of it curling against his skin, brushing against his own arcane blood like a curious cat. It practically hums in his hands, feeling weighed down from magic, and just by holding it, he feels like it contains what he was looking for.

 _Was_ looking for, he thinks to himself absently. Not anymore. Not for a while. Not since a certain night beneath the stars, feeling Molly’s hand warm and soft in his own.

Before him, Jester gives another small bounce, and Caleb drags his gaze back to her. “I hope it helps!” she says. “Promise you’ll let me know if it does so that I can be all smug at Beau because she said that none of my contacts would actually be useful?”

Caleb swallows. “ _J-ja_ ,” he says. “Promise.”

“Great!” Jester says, and then she leans forwards, presses a kiss to his cheek, and vanishes out of the door in a swirl of skirts.

After a few seconds of silence Caleb takes the book through to his office, sits down, and starts to look through it. He’s not entirely sure of what, exactly, it is that he’s looking for, but it doesn’t take him long to find it. The language the book is written in is, thankfully, one that he knows, and after a few minutes of carefully turning vellum-fine pages, he finally finds it.

 _𝔅𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔥𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰_ _𝔒𝔣_ _𝔇𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔠_ _𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔰,_ the chapter title reads, and Caleb feels his throat grow dry. With suddenly shaking hands he turns the page, his eyes darting across the looping, scrawling text. There’s nothing useful on it, not as far as he can see. He turns the next page. And then the next. And then the next, and the next, until suddenly with a soft creaking of ancient leather and paper the book flops open along a crease in the spine, and Caleb finds himself looking down at an intricately sketched banishment circle.

Just from seeing it, he knows that it’s the one. Just from seeing it, he knows that this will be the spell to send Molly home.

Caleb squeezes his eyes shut, just for a moment, and then he opens them, digs out a piece of paper, and starts writing.

He doesn’t let himself think about what he’s doing as he carefully copies out the ingredients that the circle requires. He doesn’t let himself think as he notes the size of the circle, and plans how best to position it on the tarpaulin, and figures out what spell ingredients he can replace with other, easier to come by options. He doesn’t let himself think as he checks over it, and checks over it again, and then realises that, for the first time in a while, he’s going to need his assistant to help him.

“Nott?” he calls loudly, knowing from past experience that Nott is entirely capable of hearing him from her bedroom. “Nott, could you come down here for a moment, please?”

There’s the faint sound of footsteps thumping against the floor above, and a moment later Nott shouts back. “ _Where are you_?”

“In my office!”

“ _Where_?”

“In my _office_!”

“Oh!” There’s another pattering of feet running across the floor, and a few moments later the door to Caleb’s office creaks open. Nott joins him at his desk, taking a seat in the spare chair next to it, and, after taking a moment to catch her breath, looks over at him. “What’s up?” she asks.

Caleb smiles, just a little. It feels dry and brittle on his face but it’s there all the same, and he cannot hold it back – despite how he feels about the situation, despite how he feels about Molly, Nott is still as familiar and as reassuring as ever. “Would you be up to some assistant work?”

“Of course!” Nott replies, visibly perking up. “What do you need me to do?”

Caleb taps the paper before him, sliding the list over to her. “How long do you think it would take? For you to find everything on this list.”

Nott hums thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing as she picks the paper up and scans overs the lines written across it in Caleb’s spidery handwriting. “All of this?”

“ _Ja_.”

“Well, some of it you already have-”

“I know that, _Schatz_. I mean the rest of it.”

Nott hums again, lifting a hand to scratch thoughtfully at her chin. “Well,” she says, drawing the word out, “most of this I can probably get pretty quickly just at the market. There’s a great witch who’s started selling pre-charged crystals, so I could talk to her. Some of the rest of it, though… that might be a bit tougher.”

“How much tougher?” Caleb doesn’t know what he wants to hear. He doesn’t know what he wants the answer to be. “How- how long would it take for you to get them?”

There’s a long, drawn out pause. Nott chews absently on her lip, putting the paper down and tapping her nails against it, but eventually she shrugs, looking back up at Caleb. “Maybe a week?”

 _A week_.

“Oh,” Caleb says faintly.

“Sorry, I know that’s a while, but some of these are-”

“No, no, that’s alright.” He knows he’s speaking, but he can barely hear his own words past the sudden static in his ears. “That’s- _ja_ , that is fine. _Danke_ , Nott.”

He feels a small hand patting his shoulder. “Of course,” she says. “I wouldn’t be much good as an assistant if I didn’t know how to get you materials and spell components, now would I?”

Caleb makes himself chuckle, just a little. He can’t- he can’t think too heavily about what Nott just said. Not now. “You are a wonderful assistant, _Schatz_.”

“I know,” Nott says smugly, and then she pats his shoulder again and stands, slipping off her chair and padding towards the door. “Anyway, I better go contact some people if I’m going to get these in the next week. Good luck with figuring out how to banish Molly. He’s a bit of a stubborn bastard about staying on this plane.”

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb says distantly, “ _ja_ , I know.”

There’s there click of the door shutting as Nott leaves, and then it’s just Caleb sitting in his office with the means of Molly’s banishment resting on the desk before him.

 _One week_ , he thinks to himself. _One week_.

That’s all the time he and Molly have left.

\---

It’s midnight, and Caleb is alone in his room.

It’s a strange phrase to apply to himself, he thinks absently, running his hands over the smooth pages of the book laid open in his lap. _Alone in his room_. Of course he is alone in his room. It’s midnight, and that means that Beauregard is snoring in bed, and that Nott is either out on one of her midnight jaunts, or she’s doing something on her computer, or she’s also sleeping. He has _always_ been alone in his room come midnight. He hasn’t had anyone to share his room with, not in a long time. His room is his own, small and quiet and private above all, and it is _his_. He’s alone in his room as he always has been, and as he likely will be for a good while longer. This is his standard, his normal.

And yet, right now, he wishes that it wasn’t.

And yet, right now, he wishes that someone else were here.

That Molly were here.

In the quiet of the night, the silence feels near-suffocating. The only sound is the soft rustle of pages turning, the gentle whisper of the duvet moving as he stretches his legs out beneath it, the faint creaking of the old headboard as he leans back against it. They are familiar sounds, comfortable to him, and he has always enjoyed the peace that comes from being awake so late at night. He likes the silence, and the stillness, and the lack of disturbances. He feels he gets a lot of his best work done late at night, where there is no one to talk to him, or disturb him, or wrap a tail around his ankle and keep it there as they both do their own independent things.

…Or, on second thought, maybe not. He _feels_ he gets his best work done then, but feeling and knowing are such very, very different things.

Almost absently, Caleb rubs the sole of one foot against his ankle. Right now, in this moment, he should be hard at work. His mind should be racing. He should be thinking about the components he will need to get, and the sigils he will need to draw, and the magic he will need to prepare in crystals. He should be planning. He should be _researching_.

But he’s not.

Instead he’s sitting here, alone in his room, longing for the touch of Molly’s tail around his ankle.

“ _Gott_ ,” he mutters to himself. He raises a hand to his face, pressing it over his eyes, and gives a small, sharp sound of frustration. Frustration at what, he’s not sure. Himself, possibly. “ _Gott, Scheisse. Verdammt._ ”

Fuck, but why is this so _hard_? All he has to do, _all he has to do_ to send Molly home is to read this, make some small but necessary modifications, gather the components for the circle, and cast it. It’s _easy_. It’s straightforward. It’s an odd spell, and an old one, but it’s doable. He should be excited. He should be delighted at the prospect of his life returning to normal, of his guest bedroom being empty again, of no longer having a demon loose in the house.

But he’s not excited. He’s not delighted.

More than anything, he’s dreading it.

He’s not ready to say goodbye to Molly, not yet. And he knows that it’s a bitter, selfish thing to feel, but it’s true. He isn’t ready. He’s not ready in the slightest.

From outside the door he hears the soft sound of shuffling feet, followed a moment later by a quiet knocking. Molly’s knocking. The fact that, even without paying attention, Caleb can recognise Molly just from his footsteps and his knock speaks volumes.

Just for a moment, he shuts his eyes. In the darkness behind his eyelids he thinks about staying silent and feigning sleep. He thinks about not talking to Molly tonight, about distancing himself as he’s been trying to do these past few days, about starting to break the myriad of threads that connect him and Molly now, each one as light and delicate as silk and as strong as steel wires. He thinks about letting Molly go back to bed, and about pretending that nothing happened at breakfast the following morning, and about calmly informing Molly over their toast that he’ll be able to go home soon.

He thinks about Molly crying alone in his room all those weeks ago, homesick and lonely.

He thinks about sitting next to him.

He thinks about taking his hand, and leading him through the house, and showing him the stars.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Caleb mutters to himself, and then he opens his eyes, clears his throat, and speaks. “Come in!”

The door swings open in near-silence, revealing Molly standing on the other side of it, tail wrapped around one leg and eyes glowing softly in the darkness.

He smiles. “Hey,” he says softly. “Do you mind if I…?”

Caleb shakes his head. “You are always welcome here, Mollymauk.” _More than you know_. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine!” Molly replies, far, far too quickly. He steps inside, absently pushing the door shut behind him, and moves to sit on Caleb’s bed. Caleb knows he should feel uncomfortable, having a demon so close to him. He often feels uncomfortable having _humans_ so close to him. But this is Molly, and for some terrible, ridiculous reason, his heart has decided that Molly is safe. That Molly is to be trusted.

Molly sighs, scrubbing a hand over his eyes, and Caleb moves his book to the bedside table, curling his legs up underneath him and shifting a little to be closer to Molly. Molly looks soft in the half-light provided by Caleb’s bedside lamp, a little bit intangible and a little bit ethereal, and Caleb loves him so much in that single, fleeting moment that he can feel it burning inside his chest like a star.

“I was just,” Molly mutters, “I was just wondering… how’ve you been these last few days, Caleb?”

It’s an unexpected question. Caleb blinks, frowning a little. “I have- I have been alright. Why do you ask?”

Molly shrugs, one hand fidgeting with the hem of his pyjama top. “It’s just-” he starts, and then he immediately cuts himself off. “I- you…” He sighs. “…Why have you been avoiding me, Caleb?”

 _Oh_ , Caleb thinks, and in that moment he feels his heart skip a beat. Of course- of course Molly noticed. Of course he did. Caleb knows that he’s not the subtlest man alive but he’d thought that he’d been at least slightly clever with this. Ever since his talk with Beau he’s been trying to distance himself from Molly, forcing himself to cut conversations off short before they turn into hours-long discussions of tiny, ridiculous things. He’s been trying to spend less time with Molly, encouraging him to talk to Nott or Beau instead. He’s been trying not to sit so closely to Molly at the table, hoping that in distancing himself he can distance his feelings too.

He’s been doing all of that, and he’s been hating himself for it, and not one single bit of it has worked. If anything, he only wants to be around Molly more.

Next to him, Molly is still talking.

“I don’t- I could be imagining things, I know that, but I don’t think I am, and I- I’m not- just, tell me if I’ve done something wrong, Caleb,” Molly says. “Please.”

Caleb swallows. “You haven’t done anything,” he mutters wretchedly. “You haven’t- this is entirely because of me, Mollymauk.”

 _All of this is because of me_. Every last awful, aching, painful bit is because of him. He is the only root cause of this problem, the only reason why everything has happened the way that it has. He is the reason that Molly is here, and he is the reason that Molly is not yet home, and he is the reason why his own stupid, _stupid_ heart hurts so fucking much just from being so close to Molly, feeling the warmth of his skin and smelling the incense-spice scent that clings to him and longing for the touch of his tail around his ankle like he’s starved of it. This is entirely his problem, every last bit. If he had- if he had been braver, or less stupid, or had been better at crushing down his own feelings then he wouldn’t be in this situation. _They_ wouldn’t be in this situation. Molly wouldn’t still be trapped in the wrong plane with a love-struck witch, because said witch would have actually worked and researched when he said he would and would have figured out how to send Molly home sooner. Molly could be home right now. Molly could be home, and he could be safe, and he could be _happy_.

But he’s not. Because of Caleb, and Caleb’s traitorous heart, he’s still here. Because of Caleb, Molly still isn’t home.

Because of Caleb, Molly feels like he’s done something wrong.

“This is because of me,” Caleb mutters again, looking down at his hands. “I have- I’m sorry, Mollymauk, this is my fault.” _My fault for avoiding you. My fault for trying to push you away. My fault for falling in love with you to begin with_. “You haven’t done anything wrong, I promise.”

For a moment there’s silence. And then, out of it, Molly says in the smallest voice Caleb has ever heard from him, “Then why are you avoiding me?”

Caleb swallows. “I am- I am not-”

“You _are_ , Caleb,” Molly says. His voice is still quiet but there’s weight behind it, certainty and determination and just the slightest, faintest waver of pain. “I know you, and I know when you’re trying to avoid something, and you’ve been trying to avoid _me_ and I want to know why.” He draws in a breath. Separated as they are, Caleb can still hear it rattling in his lungs. “Please,” Molly says again, softer. “Please just- just tell me, Caleb.”

Caleb can feel tears pushing at his eyes, gentle and insistent. He doesn’t know why he feels like crying. He doesn’t know why this whole situation is upsetting him so much. He just knows that it is, and he hates it. “I-” he starts, and his voice breaks on that single word.

“Caleb?” Molly asks again, and there’s concern in his voice now, real and genuine. He half-turns on the bed, reaching out and settling a hand on Caleb’s knee as his tail curls around Caleb’s ankle, twining around it in the same comforting, familiar touch that he’s grown to adore, and Caleb wants his entire heart to just _stop_. “Caleb, _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ_ , I’m sorry, are you- what’s happening? Is everything alright?”

 _No_. “Everything is fine, Mollymauk. Just- _nein_ , everything is fine.”

Molly gives a small, humourless smile. “Don’t lie to me, Caleb,” he says, his words as soft as starlight. “If something’s wrong, I want to know. I want to help.”

“Nothing is wrong, Molly.” Caleb lifts a hand, rubbing it over his face so that he doesn’t have to look at Molly’s eyes shining dimly in the darkness. He can’t look at Molly. Looking at Molly would only make this worse. “Nothing is- this is fine. _I_ am fine, Mollymauk. I have just- I have realised something. Something… important.”

There’s a heavy, hesitant pause.

“Oh?” Molly asks, his voice little more than a whisper. “What have you realised?”

Caleb swallows. “I think- I think I know how to send you home.”

There’s a long, horrible pause. Next to him Caleb can feel Molly growing still, his hand flexing minutely on his knee.

“Oh,” Molly says again. He sounds- not awful, not exactly, but _hollow_ , like he’s trying desperately hard to keep any form of emotion from his voice. “I- oh. Okay. That’s- alright.”

Strangely, Caleb feels like he should apologise. He doesn’t know what sort of reaction he was expecting from Molly but he knows that it wasn’t this – he’d been expecting Molly to be, if not outright happy, then at least excited at the prospect of going home and being able to see his friends again. It’s been months – actual, literal months – since Molly was last home, and there are still small, occasional signs that Molly misses it, and Caleb has gotten so very, very good at spotting them. He knows how to read Molly’s tells. He knows how to at least get an impression of what he’s thinking, most of the time.

 _Most of the time_. Now is not one of those times. Now, in this moment, Caleb has no idea what’s going on in Molly’s head.

“I- I need to gather some uncommon spell ingredients first,” he says quickly, hoping the fill the suddenly awful, clanging silence. “Things that I do not have in the house. It should- it will likely take about a week. And then- well, then I will be able to send you back home, and that- and that will be it.” _And I will never see you again_.

“Oh,” Molly says again. He lifts a hand to his mouth, worrying briefly at a thumbnail. “Do you- a week?”

“ _Ja_.”

“Okay.” There’s no inflection to his words. There’s no indication of anything, of any emotion behind them, and Caleb doesn’t know what to do. If Molly was happy, if he was sad, then that would be something that Caleb could handle. He can handle happy Molly, who grins so widely and talks so swiftly and who seems illuminated by sunlight no matter where he is. He can handle sad Molly, who is so quiet and uncertain, who fidgets with whatever is on hand and seems so terribly, awfully lost.

He cannot handle hollow, quiet, empty Molly. He wishes that he could. He wishes that he could, in some way, make this better.

He just doesn’t know what ‘better’, in this instance, even is.

“Molly?” Caleb hears himself asking.

“Mm?”

Caleb opens his mouth, and what he says next catches even himself off-guard. “Lie down with me?”

Molly frowns. “You- what?”

“Lie down with me,” Caleb repeats. He doesn’t know why he’s saying it. He doesn’t know why he’s suggesting it. He just knows that right now, in this moment, it feels like the right thing to say. He shuffles back a bit, patting one of the pillows, and gives a small shrug. “I- I am tired, Mollymauk, and you look to be too, and my bed- the bed is much more comfortable to lie on than it is to sit. And it’s warm.” He nods towards Molly, and towards the t-shirt – one of his own, old t-shirts – that he’s dressed in. “I know it is warmer in the Hells,” he adds quietly, feeling a flush starting to creep across his cheeks, “and I- it is- it is warmer beneath the blankets. If. Um. If you would like to- if you would like to stay and talk.”

 _Please, stay and talk._ One week is not nearly long enough, not even slightly. Caleb watches as Molly’s gaze drops, just for a moment. He knows that what he’s doing with sending Molly home is the right thing. He _knows_ it. Molly does not belong here, and the power imbalance would be too great even if Molly _did_ feel the same way about him, and Caleb is not Trent. He is _never_ going to be like Trent, not for as long as he lives. He is not going to force himself on Molly, and he is going to do what he said he would do all those months ago, and he is going to send Molly home, no matter how much it hurts. Molly did not ask for this. Molly did not ask to be here, or for Caleb to fail to send him home, or for Caleb to grow stupidly, pathetically attached.

On his knee, Caleb feels Molly’s fingers shift. _Please_ , he thinks again, _Please, stay. Just for a while._

For a moment, there is nothing but silence.

“Okay,” Molly says after a long, long pause, and Caleb feels his heart start beating again. “I- yeah, okay. I’d like that, Caleb.”

“Oh,” Caleb says, feeling a little bit unbalanced, but then there’s no time to say anything else because Molly is moving, pulling Caleb with him, and a few moments later they’re both down under the blankets, secure and warm and comfortable, and it’s simultaneously the best and worst thing that Caleb has ever experienced. He can already feel Molly’s tail slipping around his ankle as if it never moved away, and across from him he can see Molly’s eyes glowing amber and garnet in the dark room, his feeble bedside light painting his skin in a soft, warm white glow.

Before him, Molly smiles, and Caleb wants to kiss him so strongly that he barely knows how to breathe.

“Hello,” Molly says quietly. Caleb remembers looking up into Molly’s eyes, and seeing an endless universe patterned with stars stretched out behind him.

He smiles back. “ _Hallo_ ,” he says quietly.

And then, very simply, they just talk.

Caleb doesn’t know how long they talk for. At some point in the night Molly reaches for his hand where it lies on the pillow, tangling their fingers together, and Caleb had squeezed back without a moment’s thought, delighting in the little flicker of surprise and joy that had flitted over Molly’s face. As the hour grows later, though, he can feel weariness weighing heavier along his bones; with every passing word he feels himself growing sleepier, tiredness settling over him like a cloak. Molly’s voice is gentle and quiet, as soft as eiderdown, and Caleb feels his eyelids drooping with every accented word. Molly sounds nice. He sounds so nice. He’s so nice to listen to, and to talk to, even if right now Caleb isn’t doing much of the talking. He’s just listening, comfortable and safe in his own bed, as Molly tells him quiet, wonderful tales about his life and his home, not even a foot away from him across the mattress.

Caleb wishes he were closer.

He wishes Molly was right next to him. He wishes he was brave enough to reach out, and wrap an arm around Molly’s waist, and pull him in close against his chest so that he could press small kisses to the curve of Molly’s jaw and the line of his collarbone and just hold him close and tight. He wishes he could hold Molly. He wishes he could kiss Molly.

He wishes that Molly knew what he feels for him. He wishes he felt it back.

Distantly, Caleb becomes aware that Molly’s stopped speaking. He blinks his eyes open, meeting Molly’s soft, glowing gaze. “Mm?” he asks, blinking sleepily, and, across from him, Molly’s smile turns into something soft and tender.

“I-” he starts, but then he shakes his head, his horns brushing against the pillow. “Nothing, darling. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh. Okay.” He can do that. He doesn’t feel like thinking about anything too hard. He just wants to lie here, and watch Molly, and feel Molly’s tail curl closer around his ankle. He flexes his fingers, just a little bit, and feels Molly squeezing back.

“ _ᖨ_ _ᛮѨ_ _ᘸ_ ,” Molly says, his voice achingly fond, “Oh, _ᖨᗇ_ _ᖨ_ _ᚱᚳ'Ѧ_ _ᙪᗄ_.”

Caleb frowns. That first bit had, at least to his ears, sounded almost like his name. “Was that… did you say my name?” he asks.

Molly gives a small laugh. “I did,” he admits.

“Oh.” It sounded nice. It sounded very nice, in Molly’s native tongue. “What, ah, what were you saying?”

Molly smiles, shaking his head a little. “I was just talking to myself, love.”

“It sounded nice,” Caleb mumbles, shutting his eyes again. Across the pillow from him Molly stills slightly, watching as Caleb makes a small, sleepy sound, and shifts a little on the bed.

He swallows. “Caleb?”

“Mm, _ja_?” Caleb doesn’t open his eyes. Molly can practically see the sleep stealing over him, wrapping around him like an embrace and calming his mind. Molly wishes that he could be the one embracing Caleb. He wishes that he could do more than this, than these two points of contact between them. He wants to scoot across the bed and throw an arm over Caleb’s waist, tangling their legs together until it’s impossible to tell where one of them ends and the other begins. He wants to lose himself in Caleb’s scent, and to Caleb’s touch. He wants to hold Caleb, and to be held in return.

He doesn’t want to leave.

He knows that he has to.

He can’t- he can’t stay here. He knows that. This isn’t his room, and it isn’t his bed, and it isn’t even his house. When Caleb invited Molly to his bed – and he’s not going to think about it that way, not even slightly – Molly had assumed that it didn’t involve… this. It was not an invitation to stay the night. His own bedroom is right next door, barely more than a few metres away. He has no good reason to be here. He has every good reason to leave.

But he truly, desperately, doesn’t want to.

All the same, he knows that he should.

“Caleb?” he whispers. “I should- I should go.” Caleb gives a sleepy nod, his hair fanning out over the pillow in a sea of auburn and bronze. In the soft, filtered light of the street lamps outside, his lashes cast long, inky shadows against his skin.

“Mm,” he mumbles.

Molly smiles. “Caleb,” he says again.

“Mm?”

“I said that I should go.” Never mind that he doesn’t want to. Never mind that he _never_ wants to go, that he never wants to leave Caleb’s side.

Caleb hums again, settling down further into bed as sleep steals over him. “Mm,” he hums, his fingers growing loose around Molly’s. “Mm, _nein_.”

 _No_. Molly has spent enough time with Caleb to know what that word means. He swallows, feeling his throat tightening. “Caleb,” he says again but the word is a whisper this time, soft and intimate and only for them. “Caleb…” Unthinkingly he reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair back behind Caleb’s ear, and Caleb gives another soft hum and turns his head into the touch, his cheek pressed against Molly’s palm. Molly can feel the warmth of his skin, the rough-soft drag of his scruff, and he never wants to lets go. He never wants to stop touching Caleb. He has Caleb’s hand still in his own, his thumb running absently over the ridges and bumps of Caleb’s knuckles, and he can’t stop himself from running a hand down Caleb’s cheek, marvelling and longing and love-sick all at once.

Caleb hums again, the sound so soft and quiet and so absolutely, entirely content that Molly thinks his heart might break from it, and gives a soft sigh. In the stillness and dark of the night, where reality cannot touch them, it sounds like a name. “ _Mollymauk_ …”

Molly makes his decision.

He stays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The simply _gorgeous_ art of Molly in this chapter was done by the ever-incredible [Heidi](https://twitter.com/heidzdraws)!
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on April 29th! Also, I'm currently working on making a little Infernal dictionary and pronunciation guide, including a chapter-by-chapter breakdown of all Infernal spoken in this fic. The dictionary will be linked at the end of the final chapter to prevent spoilers.


	17. Chapter 17

When Molly wakes, he wakes to silence and warmth. He’s not entirely sure of where he is, his brain still fuzzy with sleep, but wherever he is, he’s comfortable, and content, and something nearby smells like woodsmoke and amber. He gives a small sigh, his eyes still shut, and presses closer to the warmth beside him, drawing in a breath and letting the scent settle throughout his body. It smells _good_ , really good, and whatever he’s clinging to is wonderfully, brilliantly _warm_ , filling him with a comfortable, beautiful heat all the way down to his toes and the very tips of his tail. The material plane isn’t exactly cold, not really, but it’s not as warm as he’s used to, and he’s become accustomed to waking in a bed that’s just a shade cooler than he would have liked. It’s never been anything bad, and it’s nothing that another blanket couldn’t solve, but this is so close to perfect that he can’t imagine possibly being more comfortable and content.

Molly gives a soft, contented little sigh, and cuddles in a bit closer, nuzzling absently at whatever it is that he’s cuddling. He feels like he should be aware of what he’s cuddling, feels like there’s something that he needs to remember, and it’s at that exact moment that his brain puts together _bed_ and _warm_ and _woodsmoke_ , and says _Caleb_.

Caleb.

Molly opens his eyes, and abruptly realises where he is.

He’s clinging to Caleb like an octopus, their legs all tangled up together and one arm flung over Caleb’s waist, his hand pressing loosely to Caleb’s back. Caleb’s pyjama top is soft beneath his fingers, warm from Caleb’s skin, and as Molly slowly wakes further, he realises that he can feel Caleb breathing, his arm rising and falling slightly with every inhale and exhale. He can hear Caleb’s breathing, too; his hair stirs slightly with every breath, and against his own chest, Molly can feel Caleb’s heart beating away, slow, and steady, and so absolutely, impossibly comforting.

 _Everything_ about this is comforting. One of Caleb’s hands is resting on his hip, his fingers half-curled in Molly’s pyjama top like he’d been trying to hold onto him in his sleep, and the warm, gentle weight of it makes Molly feel even warmer beneath his skin, as if embers hidden somewhere in his heart had just been rekindled, sparking their heat through his bones. He doesn’t want to leave this moment, not now, and not ever. He’s so _warm_. He’s so utterly, perfectly warm, and he’s comfortable, and everything about this is… it’s…

It’s perfect. It’s ideal. It’s something that he’s imagined so, so many times. It’s something that he’d confessed to Yasha when Caleb had left them to their Infernal conversation. It’s something that he’s dreamed about, and imagined, and told himself that he would never be able to have.

Caleb stirs, just a little, and it’s only then that Molly realises something else about how he’s cuddled up to him. His lips are pressed lightly to Caleb’s collarbone, like he fell asleep halfway through kissing a pattern down the column of his throat, following the freckles that lie scattered across his skin like fallen stars. His tail, as it so often is, is wrapped around Caleb’s ankle, the split ends of it resting just under the leg of his pyjama pants, pressed right up against the skin, and tangled up together as they are, Molly can’t help but smell the paper-woodsmoke-magic scent that clings to Caleb’s skin. More than that, in fact; tangled up like this, so close together that he cannot tell where he ends and Caleb begins, he can _feel_ Caleb’s magic. It brushes up against his own skin in slow, lazy waves, trailing over his arms and back and chest like the gentle caress of a lover, and even through the boundary of the twine it feels so, so good that Molly wants nothing more than to shut his eyes, and press his lips back to Caleb’s collarbone, and exist in that feeling forever.

He wants to exist here forever, _stay_ here forever. He never, ever wants to leave Caleb’s embrace.

But, he realises slowly, he has to. The awareness settles in his heart like ice, extinguishing the embers that had been there before, and where before he had felt so wonderfully warm, all he feels now is cold. It’s like his blood has been replaced with frost, crystallising him into an awful, frozen stillness from the inside out, and quite suddenly, the warmth of Caleb’s skin, and Caleb’s bed, is no longer enough. He needs to be closer, needs to press closer, needs to drown himself in Caleb’s smell and the touch of Caleb’s skin and the sheer warmth that is every single tiny aspect of Caleb, his sparkling mind, and his sharp, clever tongue, and the impossible blue of his eyes. If he can only get closer, he feels, then somehow he might be allowed to stay. If he can somehow get closer, then this might be alright.

But he can’t. There’s no distance left for him to cross, no atoms remaining between him and Caleb. He is as close as he can possibly be, and it isn’t nearly enough, and he has to move away.

He has to move away.

Slowly, like his limbs are filled with lead, Molly forces himself to disentangle from Caleb. He frees his legs first, slipping them out from between Caleb’s, and then he lifts his arm from Caleb’s waist. The motion of it stirs the duvet, pulling a gust of cold air down under the blankets and making Molly shiver. Across from him, Caleb’s face twitches, a tiny frown furrowing his brow as the chilly air skates over his skin, and Molly is so, so tempted to lean forwards, and cuddle back in, and kiss Caleb’s frown away.

He doesn’t. Instead, he slowly shuffles backwards across the bed, through pillows and blankets and sheets that smell so much like Caleb that he wants to bundle himself up in them and never leave, and then he lifts the duvet and gently, slowly, carefully slips out of bed.

The moment he’s standing upright, he shivers. After the warmth of Caleb’s body, the air outside the bed feels positively arctic, like he’d accidentally stepped into the plane of ice instead of just into Caleb’s bedroom. He wraps his arms around himself in a weak facsimile of Caleb’s embrace and curls his tail around his ankle. It’s a familiar little self-comforting action, one that he used to do all the time back home, but it feels strange, now, like it’s missing some vital component. It doesn’t bring him the comfort that it used to. All it does, now, is make him even more aware of the distance between him and Caleb.

The distance that he put there.

He has to do this. He _knows_ that. Caleb doesn’t like him that way, and Molly can only imagine that waking to find a literal _demon_ treating him as his own personal teddy bear would only sour what little time they have left together. It is better, he feels, to move away now, and return to his own room, and-

And what?

And get back into his own bed, and pretend that this never happened? And climb beneath blankets that he doesn’t even own and pretend that this is his home? And think about Caleb, and the warmth that fills him just from the sight of him, and let himself dream that, maybe someday, in some universe, he’ll actually be able to kiss Caleb?

It’s pathetic.

Molly reaches up, scrubbing a hand over his face, and reaches for the door handle. He’s going to leave. He’s going to do it. He’s going to go back to his own room, and leave Caleb to sleep, and it’s going to be fine. It’s going to be _fine_. All he has to do is turn the handle, and open the door, and leave.

He doesn’t leave.

Not immediately.

He turns, feeling his feet scuff over the carpet, and allows himself one last look at Caleb. Caleb is still curled up asleep in bed, one hand resting on the pillow next to his head and his hair a perfect riot of bronze and copper spread out behind him, and everything about him beckons Molly to return to his side, and curl up against his front, and run his hands through his hair like he’s wanted to do so many times before. Molly vaguely recalls Caleb’s hair being tied back in a ponytail when he’d joined him in his bedroom, and he can only assume that it had slipped free at some point in the night, but he’s not complaining. Far from it, in fact. Caleb looks good with his hair loose. He looks good with it up too, of course, but Molly so rarely sees it hanging loose these days that it feels like a treat, like a rarity to be enjoyed while it lasts. He wants to touch it. He remembers how Caleb’s hands had felt in his hair when Yasha was visiting, remembers how he hadn’t been able to stop himself from purring like a contented shoosuva, and wishes that he could bring Caleb the same comfort. He wishes that he could make Caleb feel as relaxed as he looks to be right now.

Gods and devils, he looks so relaxed.

In the embrace of sleep, Caleb looks softer, somehow – the myriad tiny lines of stress or concern or worry that are so commonly etched into his face are wiped clean, taking away the years that Molly can only assume that Trent had added to his shoulders. He looks relaxed, comfortable, and utterly at peace. He looks like he had at the zoo, when Molly had glanced over to catch Caleb observing him, or Nott, or Beau, or any of the others with a fond little smile.

He looks like he had that night beneath the stars.

Except, of course, that there is no starlight here. There is no moon overhead to paint Caleb’s skin in silver and steal the blue from his eyes. There is only the soft, dawning spring sunlight, slipping between the cracks in Caleb’s curtains and catching like gold on his skin, on the scruff of his beard and on the curving darkness of his lashes. It gathers shadows beneath his head, tucking them away beneath the blankets to better encompass Caleb in its light, and Caleb looks so beautiful that Molly thinks he feels his heart stop. He looks like worship, like piety, like some altogether unknowable and otherworldly being, but above all he looks like himself. He looks like Caleb. He looks like the man that Molly knows, and adores, and loves.

 _ᖨᗇ_ _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ_ _ᚳ'Ѧ_ _ᙪᗄ,_ he thinks to himself. The words taste empty and forlorn in his head. They taste like truth. _ᖨᗇ_ _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ_ _ᚳ'Ѧ_ _ᙪᗄ. I love you._

On the bed, Caleb abruptly stirs. He shifts a little, frowning once more, and seems to curl in on himself tighter, one arm moving across the expanse of the bed like he’s seeking Molly out even in slumber, and all Molly wants to do is step forwards, and climb back into bed, and join Caleb in the sunlight. All he wants is to press his lips to Caleb’s collarbone, and to his jaw, and to his lips, and hold Caleb close and never let him go. All he wants is to tell Caleb how he feels, and exist in the dream where Caleb feels the same way.

That’s all he wants.

Molly breathes in, breathes out, and then he leaves and shuts the door quietly behind him.

Unseen by Molly, Caleb opens his eyes, and listens in silence as Molly walks back to his own room.

\---

 _One week,_ Molly thinks to himself. _One week._ That’s all he has left. That’s all the time he has left on the material plane, and it’s not nearly long enough. _One week_. One week to spend with Nott, delighting in sharing jewellery and stones and beautiful, iridescent beads. One week to spend with Beau, bickering and arguing and teaching each other the best insults their respective planes have to offer. One week to spend with Fjord, watching in horrified fascination as he communicates with his patron and pokes more jellybabies into the eyeball in his hand. One week to spend with Jester, braiding her hair and painting each other’s nails and watching what she assures him are the _best_ trashy movies he will _ever see_.

One week.

One week to spend with Caleb.

Molly lifts a hand, scrubbing it over his eyes. After a night and a short, wonderful morning spent listening to Caleb’s soft breathing, the silence of his own room feels deafening. It hangs around him like a mantle, stifling his own thoughts until all he can hear is the same two words, running through his head on repeat.

 _One week_.

Gods and devils, but how the fuck did things even get to this point? How the fuck did he go from being mildly entertained and somewhat attracted to this random witch who’d accidentally summoned him to being properly, actually, _entirely_ in love with him? To being so fucking smitten that the mere sight of him smiling was enough to make his heart skip a beat? To wanting to spend as much time as possible around him, talking, or laughing, or just sitting in silence as they both do their own independent thing?

He almost wishes it was a spell. If it was a spell, if these feelings were due to a spell, then at least he’d have someone other than himself to blame. If this was an enchantment, or a hex, or _something_ of that nature then he could at least be comfortable in the knowledge that as soon as he gets home the enchantment would break, and he will be free, and he’ll never have to think about Caleb again. He would never have to feel for Caleb again, if this was only an enchantment.

But it’s not a spell. He’s sure of that. He trusts Caleb, far, far too much to even consider him capable of doing something of that nature, and seeing him in the aftermath of Trent’s visit only cemented that certainty further. Caleb didn’t do anything. Caleb didn’t make Molly fall in love with him.

Molly did that all on his own.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Molly whispers to himself, and he wipes at his eyes again. Even now, all he wants is to go back to Caleb’s room, and slip back into bed with him, and settle into the warmth of Caleb’s embrace. All he wants is to take Caleb’s hand in his own, and wrap his tail around his ankle, and hold him. He doesn’t want to be here, shivering and crying in his own room.

He doesn’t want to be here alone.

And, Gods, more than anything else he doesn’t want to go back to the Hells alone. He doesn’t want to have to leave Caleb behind. He doesn’t want to leave Caleb, now or ever.

But he should, and he must, and so he will.

Molly shuts his eyes for a moment, drawing in a breath. The air feels cold in his lungs, touching frost to the back of his throat, and he knows, he _knows_ , that if he were back in his own plane then he wouldn’t have this problem. If he was back on his own plane then he could see his friends again – and he does miss them, he _does_ ; seeing Yasha again had been one of the most wonderful experiences of his life – but he doesn’t want to go back without Caleb. He wants Caleb to come with him, even if just for a short visit. He wants to show Caleb the Hells, and introduce him to his friends, and take him on a date to his favourite locations, and kiss him in the comfort of his own bed, in his own house. He wants Caleb in his life, in whatever way possible.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, and he inhales once more. It feels easier this time and so he forces himself to continue to breathe in and out, settling his breathing and quietly willing the tears away. He needs- he needs to go down to breakfast. He needs to get ready for the day. He needs to smile at Caleb, and wish Nott a good morning, and pretend that everything is fine and that he _doesn’t_ want to go to Caleb, and ask him to please let him stay just for another week.

 _One week_.

When he had first arrived, it would’ve felt like an intolerably long wait. Now, it barely feels like long enough.

Molly breathes in, breathes out, and then he stands from his bed, wipes away his remaining tears, affixes a bright smile to his face, and heads downstairs to start making breakfast.

 _One week_.

\---

The skies, which had been so resolutely overcast for the last few days, choose the day of Molly’s banishment to clear, streaming warm, golden sunlight through the windows of the dining room. The light paints the wooden floor in bands of amber, highlighting the chalked symbols and filling the scattered crystals with light, making the tarpaulin seem to glow an almost otherworldly shade of blue. By all rights, it should be nice. It’s objectively a nice day. The sun is shining, and the sky is clear, and there’s a faint breeze sending a single perfect, fluffy cloud scudding across the blue beyond. It’s nice. It’s pretty.

Caleb feels sick down to his stomach.

He’s known this was coming. He’s known it for months, ever since Molly first arrived, and he’s known it with a horrible certainty over the last seven days. _A week_ , Nott had said, and a week it had taken. The required ingredients – or their acceptable substitutes – had been arriving back at the house in bits and pieces over the last week, and the previous evening Nott had returned with the final item safe and sound in her bag. It sits on the edge of the circle, now, humming softly with the pre-banishment magic that the book had instructed Caleb to weave around it. The entire circle is humming, really; Caleb can feel it raising the hairs on his arms, brushing against the soles of his feet and making him shiver. He doesn’t know if any of the others can feel it – Beau, sitting with her legs dangling at the kitchen counter, seems entirely unaffected, as does Nott. They both seem unaffected by all of this, really. They’re a bit quieter than normal, sure, and Caleb knows that they both consider Molly to be a friend now, but they don’t seem gutted, hollowed-out and empty in the way that Caleb feels like he is.

In the way that Molly looks like he is.

 _Molly_.

He’s not even standing in the circle, and Caleb already misses him so much that he can feel it choking him. He’s just leaning back against the wall by the window seat, staring down at the circle with an absolutely unreadable expression. His tail, normally so expressive, is still and motionless by his legs, only giving the occasional tiny twitch before it settles back down. Molly in general has been quieter these last few days. He’s been loud and talkative and chatty, yes, but it’s felt… different. It’s felt like a performance, almost, like he hadn’t wanted any of them to notice the way that his face has been falling every time he thinks that no one is looking at him.

Caleb’s noticed, though. He’s noticed every small drop of Molly’s face, and every nervous flex of his hands, and he’s noticed how, in the last seven days, Molly’s tail has been wrapping tighter and tighter and tighter around his ankle, almost squeezing his leg before abruptly falling slack and twitching away. It’s been strange, to say the least, and Caleb still doesn’t know what to think about it. On the one hand, it seems almost like Molly doesn’t want to go home, either. It almost seems as though he, like Caleb, wants to stay here, in the material plane, in Caleb’s home and in Caleb’s life, but at the same time, he’s been growing more distant. He’s been simultaneously more affectionate than normal and also less, alternating between resting his entire weight against Caleb’s side, his chin resting contentedly on Caleb’s shoulder and his tail around Caleb’s ankle, and abruptly choosing to sit on another couch entirely when Beau loudly declares that it’s movie night. Caleb is sure that his own actions must be just as confusing, but that doesn’t stop him from worrying. He doesn’t understand why Molly is acting like this, and he doesn’t want Molly to go home, and he hates it.

He hates it.

It’s as simple as that, really. The anger that he feels is a slow, sullen type of anger, and it’s directed entirely at himself. He can’t blame Molly. He can’t blame him for any of this. None of this was his fault, not in the slightest. It wasn’t Molly’s fault that Caleb summoned him, and it wasn’t Molly’s fault that Caleb couldn’t send him home, and it absolutely wasn’t Molly’s fault that Caleb’s stupid, _stupid_ heart looked at Molly, and at his quick, sharp smile, and at the ink on his skin, and at the care and kindness and affection in every single one of his movements, and fell in love with him. It’s isn’t a question anymore; it’s a fact, simple and honest and as undeniable as gravity. Molly is an anchor, a focal point in his life, and Caleb wishes that he didn’t orbit him the way that he does. He wishes that he could take all of his feelings for Molly, and scrub them out of his chest, and scratch them from his heart until his hands are bleeding with it. He wishes that life could be just as it was before any of this happened, and at the same time, he wouldn’t trade this for the world. There is nothing that he wouldn’t give up for his memories of starlight on inked skin. There is nothing that he would trade for the feeling of Molly’s hand in his own.

All the same, things would be so, so much easier if he didn’t feel as he did.

But, of course, he does. There is no simple solution to this. There is no easy way out. There is only the circle, and the banishment, and the quiet, insistent hope that this spell fails too, and that somehow everything will work out in such a way that he can kiss Molly without worrying about abusing the position of power he has, and that everything will be just _fine_.

 _Foolish_.

Caleb clears his throat. _I have to do this_ , he tells himself, and with that he straightens up, claps his hands to get everyone’s attention, and forces himself to speak.

“Okay,” he says, with a voice that’s only barely not trembling. “It is- it is time to send Molly home. We should, ah- if we- if- if we have any goodbyes, we should say them now.”

He doesn’t look, but he hears the shuffling as Beau jumps down off the counter and approaches. Molly glances over to her, a small smile tugging at his lips, and then he pushes off the wall and walks past the circle, meeting her by the edge of it. For a moment, Caleb thinks that Molly glances in his direction. Molly’s eyes may not have pupils, but in recent months Caleb has become very, very good at following where they’re looking. He’s become very, very good at reading Mollymauk Tealeaf.

Which means that, as Molly bends down to envelope Beau in a hug, Caleb can watch his tail twitching, and watch the way he squeezes her, and knows that he will actually, genuinely miss her.

For a moment, he hopes that Molly misses him as much as he will miss Molly, and then he immediately casts that hope aside. This hurts enough as it is. He doesn’t want to imagine what it will feel like when Molly actually leaves. And he certainly doesn’t want Molly to feel this heavy, aching pain in his heart, and know that it will only get worse.

“Bye, asshole,” Beau says, her words muffled against Molly’s skin. Molly gives a small laugh, squeezing her, and then turns his head and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “Ew,” Beau mutters. “Gross.”

Molly laughs. Caleb wishes he could keep a memory of that sound forever. “Goodbye to you too, dick,” he replies. He pats her on the back and then lets go, stepping back with a smile. Beau steps back too, nodding jerkily and brushing a thumb beneath her eyes.

“Uh-huh,” she says, in a voice that’s only barely wavering. “You stay safe, Molly.”

“You too, Beau.”

“ _My turn_ ,” Nott interrupts, pushing past Beau to approach Molly. He gives another small laugh and bends down slightly to hug her as well, giving her a kiss on the forehead as they share their goodbyes. Molly practically seems to glow in the sunlight as he squeezes Nott, his lavender skin luminous and his eyes shining ruby-red, and for a moment all Caleb can see is that evening, so very long ago, when he’d wished Molly goodnight on the day that he’d summoned him. Molly’s eyes had been glowing then, too, shining softly out of the darkness, and it almost feels odd to remember how, at the time, he had only been showing two of them. It feels odd to remember how, at the time, they were barely even acquaintances, and the only feelings Caleb had had for Molly had been mild annoyance.

How far they have come. How very, very far indeed.

Molly straightens out of his hug with Nott, giving a little sniffle, and then turns towards Caleb. His mouth is quirked in a small smile, his tail swaying back and forth, and he is beautiful, and wonderful, and Caleb loves him more dearly than he could ever hope to describe. He loves Molly’s smile, and he loves Molly’s wit, and he loves his laugh and his hands and the way that Infernal sounds on his tongue, all heady and smoky and warm enough to make Caleb want to wrap himself up in it. He loves _Molly_. He loves being near him. He loves everything about him.

And this is their goodbye.

Molly’s smile grows, just a little bit, and he takes a single step forward. “Caleb,” he says quietly, and Caleb almost distantly realises that there are tears in Molly’s eyes now, glimmering damply on his lashes. He knows there are tears in his own eyes, too. Molly reaches out, taking Caleb’s hands in his own, and the touch is so familiar that Caleb turns his hands into it without thinking, tangling their fingers together as though that act alone would be enough to keep Molly here, on this plane, by his side. “Oh, Caleb… thank you.”

For once, Caleb doesn’t need to ask Molly what he’s thanking him for. He knows, now. He cannot remember every conversation that they have had – and there have been so, so many of them – but he can remember the last month as clearly as day, and he knows what the thanks are for. He smiles back, and feels the first tears start to fall. “Of course,” he says softly. “I- of course, Mollymauk.”

“You didn’t have to do everything that you did-”

“ _Nein_ , no, I did, I did-”

“ _Caleb_. Let me compliment and thank you, love.” Caleb falls silent, feeling himself smiling. Gods, he loves Molly. He loves him so much he thinks his heart might break from it. Molly smiles back, and squeezes his hands as best he can. “Caleb,” he says again, and there is a waver to his voice this time, a thickness brought on by tears. “You have- you’ve been- you really didn’t have to do all of this, you know? You didn’t expect any of this, and you didn’t plan for it, but you did- you really did brilliantly with everything. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help with my own banishment.”

“Mollymauk,” Caleb says softly. “I- you- _Liebling_ , you never needed to do anything. This was all on me.”

“Well, yeah, I’m not denying that,” Molly replies, with such open fondness to his voice that Caleb can only smile wider. “But you didn’t have to be so nice about it. You didn’t have to do _this_.” He lifts one hand, showing off the twine bracelet. “So I- just, thank you, Caleb. For everything.”

Caleb swallows damply. He can taste the salt from his tears on his tongue. “ _Ja_ ,” he says weakly. Molly drops his hand, taking up Caleb’s once again, and abruptly it’s not nearly enough.

“Caleb,” Molly says once more, and that’s as far as he gets because Caleb’s feet, entirely unbidden by him, have taken a step forwards, and Caleb finds himself wrapping Molly up in a hug before he even really knows what he’s doing.

There’s not a moment’s pause, not even one; the moment that Caleb wraps his arms around Molly he feels Molly lift his arms, and wrap them around his back, and squeeze back.

It’s a good hug, a true hug, strong and solid and tight and close, and it shatters Caleb’s heart like nothing else. He curls his fingers in Molly’s shirt, presses his face close against the crook of Molly’s neck and shoulder, and, for the last time, draws the scent of incense and spice into his lungs. He will never have this again. He will never have _Molly_ again. He will never again have Molly’s body pressed warm against his own; he will never again have Molly’s fingers intertwined with his. He will never again have incense and spice in his lungs.

He will never again hear Molly’s laugh, or see his smile, or watch his eyes crinkle in that way that they do when he’s trying so very, _very_ hard not to giggle at something ridiculous that Beau or Nott said.

He will never again see the tiny smile that Molly has only ever given to him.

This is goodbye, and it’s final.

And Caleb hates it.

 _I don’t want you to go_ , he thinks, and he squeezes his eyes shut tighter, forces his sob down so that Molly cannot feel it, and holds him even closer. Against his chest he can feel Molly’s heart beating, a metronome against his heart, and around his ankle he can feel Molly’s tail twining close and tight. It feels like a brand, like a tether, like something that Caleb never, ever wants to lose. It is not something that is his, and it is not something that is Molly’s, but it is something that is _theirs_. It is their shared contact, their shared closeness, and just as Caleb thinks that he feels Molly’s tail flex and shift, tightening even closer around the bony jut of his ankle.

Just for a moment, Caleb lets himself imagine that Molly’s tail, too, is trying to keep them together. He imagines that this moment is just as awful for Molly as it is for him. He imagines that he is not the only one fighting to keep back his tears, and that he is not the only one trying not to cry, and that he is not the only one who feels like his heart is being wrenched in half, split between two planes of existence as surely as if an axe had struck it in two. It _hurts_ , hurts like burning and like ice and like _nothing_. It hurts like absence.

Distantly, as if being played on a TV in a different room, Caleb remembers telling Molly about void spaces all those days and weeks and months ago. He remembers teaching him about planar transport as Molly had sat on the couch, the portable salt circle settled around his waist. He remembers Molly in his clothing, and Molly in his life, and he remembers how sure he had been that Molly was going to get home quickly, and that nothing was going to happen.

If only that had been the case.

If only this had been easy.

 _If only I hadn’t fallen in love with you_.

He doesn’t want to let Molly go, but he does. Slowly, as though he’s moving through fog, he drops his arms from around Molly’s back, freeing Molly’s shirt from between his fingers. He thinks he hears Molly give a quiet sniffle, but for all he knows the sound could be coming from him. He can’t tell anymore, can’t tell whose breath is hitching as they try to suppress tears, or whose hands are trembling as they drop them to their sides. He just knows that his are, and as he glances down to Molly’s hand, watching the bracelet shift over ink, he thinks he sees Molly’s hands shaking too.

Caleb draws in a breath. For a moment, he can still taste incense and spice on the back of his throat. “Okay,” he says quietly. From behind him, he thinks he hears Nott also sniffling, but he doesn’t turn to look. Every second he has left to look at Molly now is precious. Every second that he has left to spend with Molly, to exist in Molly’s presence, is important to him. He cannot possibly give any of them away. “ _Ich-_ okay. Alright.” He gives a short, jerky nod, the thumb of one hand rubbing against his fingers in a twitchy, anxious motion. _I don’t want to do this_. “You will… could you please enter the circle, Mollymauk?”

There’s a crinkle from the tarpaulin as Molly steps onto it, and the sound of it hangs in the air as sharp and as jagged as static. Caleb never pulls his gaze from Molly, not once looking away as he steps over the chalked boundary of the circle and stands directly in the centre of it. There’s no salt circle this time to keep him contained. There’s no additional restraint glyphs woven through the sigils. There’s just the chalk, and the components, and nothing at all to stop Molly from leaving, should he wish to do that. If he wanted to, if he desired to, he could take two short steps and be free from the circle, and then he wouldn’t have to go home at all.

And what Caleb, still watching from a few metres away, doesn’t realise is that Molly already knows this. There’s no tingle of salt itching against his skin when he steps into the circle, and he knows as surely as he knows how to make Caleb smile that he _could_ just step back out of it. He could so, so easily leave this circle, and tell Caleb that he doesn’t have to go home right now, and then he could kiss Caleb, and everything would be _wonderful._

Molly smiles to himself, just for a moment. It’s a tiny smile, fleeting and joyless. What a delight that would be. What a wonderful dream that would be to exist in, where he could stride out of this circle, and press his lips to Caleb’s, and where Caleb would only respond with joy. Where Caleb’s hands would settle on his waist, and he could throw his arms around Caleb’s shoulders, and it would be like their hug earlier but _better_ because it would never have to end. Because Caleb wouldn’t want it to end.

What a wonderful, impossible dream that would be.

Across the boundary of the circle, Caleb’s face briefly falls further. He’d seen the smile cross Molly’s face and can only assume that it was due to excitement at how soon he’d be returning home. It hadn’t looked anything like most of Molly’s smiles, but Caleb can’t think of another reason for it being there beyond that. Molly is going home. He’s going to see his friends again. By all rights, he _should_ be smiling.

“You have all of your things?” Caleb hears himself ask. Molly nods, reaching down to pat the tote bag that they’d spent the last day filling with all the assorted items he’d collected in his time on the material plane. There’s his jacket, of course, and his jewellery, and the peacock mug that Caleb got him from the zoo, and the necklace that Jester bought for him, and the cardigan that Beau had given to Molly because it was too nice to cut the sleeves off of, and everything else that he may have wanted to bring back. There are terrible, tacky earrings. There are material plane snacks that don’t exist in the Nine Hells.

There’s one of Caleb’s old t-shirts, tucked away down at the bottom of the bag where Caleb can’t see it. Molly hadn’t told him that he was bringing it home with him. He hadn’t told him how he’d wanted something to remember Caleb by. Caleb, he’d reasoned, wouldn’t need to know that.

Caleb would only find it creepy.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I- yeah, I’ve got everything.”

“You have your peacock mug?”

“I’ve got the mug.”

“And the- the box of tea?”

Molly smiles a little. “I have that too,” he replies. Caleb can feel himself smiling back, and it feels like the expression is hanging before his face like a mask. It’s not his smile. Not really. He can’t smile at this, as much as he knows that he should. This should be a happy event, a cheerful occasion. After months of having a demon in his home, he’s finally managing to dismiss him. Molly is going home, to where he belongs. He’s going to see his friends again, and live his life again, and generally be where he should be, on an altogether different plane of existence. Caleb just needs to let him go.

And that is so much easier said than done.

Caleb swallows. “ _Gut_ ,” he says. He clears his throat a little, averting his gaze, and makes a small gesture. “Then I suppose I should, ah, I will need to… I will need to remove your bracelet, Mollymauk. So that- so that you still have all your magic when you get home.”

“Right,” Molly says. “Right, yeah, of course.” He glances at Caleb and then, without any preamble, holds out his hand. With careful, unstable fingers, Caleb undoes the bracelet, doing his best not to brush against Molly’s skin. Touching Molly, he feels, will only make this worse.

All the same, when the bracelet falls slack he is still left with the lingering memory of the warmth of Molly’s skin skimming against his fingertips. He is still left with the lingering memory of the first time that they did this, when Molly had held him, and reassured him, and pressed soft, fleeting kisses to his forehead. Almost absently he dispels the spell woven through the strands, starting to remove any trace of magic from the woven bracelet. Soon, it will just be a bracelet. Soon, there will be nothing special about it at all.

Caleb closes his hand around the twine and feels the first tears start to fall. All of a sudden, he doesn’t feel like keeping his tears at bay. This is his last time seeing Molly, his last time speaking to Molly – there is no harm that can be done, now, in letting himself cry openly. So what if Molly sees? So what if Beau and Nott see? Molly will soon be gone, banished to another plane altogether, and Beau and Nott have both seen him cry before. It doesn’t matter. None of this- none of this _pretence_ matters. Molly has seen him cry before – why now does he feel like Molly cannot see this? Why is this what he has to keep at bay?

_Why can’t he just tell Molly how he feels?_

Caleb looks up, meeting Molly’s gaze, and realises belatedly that there are tears in Molly’s eyes too.

“Caleb,” Molly says and then he cuts himself off, his throat working silently for a few moments before he speaks again. “Could I- would it be alright if I- the bracelet.”

Caleb frowns. He can feel the magic in the bracelet slowly fading, leeching out of the woven strands as the spell steadily dispels itself. “What about it?”

“Could I- can I keep it?”

Caleb glances down at the twine in his hand. There is nothing special about it, of that much he’s certain. It’s just twine, hastily woven together to contain a spell designed to take care of a situation that was never meant to last this long. It’s coarse, and a bit rough, but it’s been softened by consistent wear and even now Caleb thinks he can sense traces of Molly’s magic on it, clinging to the strands like they’re loathe to let go. It’s a stupid, insignificant, ridiculous thing. It’s boring.

It shouldn’t mean this much to him.

In an awful, selfish way, he wants to keep it. Molly has an entire bag of mementos to remember his time here by, and Caleb has nothing beyond what selfies Molly had taken on his phone, and what photos of himself and Molly Jester and the others had managed to snap of them while at the zoo or while on one of their smaller outings. He doesn’t have anything tangible, not really.

But then he looks up at Molly, and sees the way that Molly is looking at the bracelet, and realises that, just possibly, this may mean just as much to Molly as it does to him. He opens his mouth, intending to tell Molly that of course he can have the bracelet, but instead all that comes out is one short word: “Why?”

Molly smiles. It’s a tiny thing, broken and sad, but it’s still Molly’s smile, and so Caleb still loves it. “Memories,” he says simply, and, somehow, that is enough. Caleb knows how much his own memories of Molly mean to himself. He cannot possibly deny Molly his own.

He reaches out, passing the bracelet to Molly across the boundary of the chalk circle. For a moment their hands touch, fingers brushing against fingers, and the desire to take Molly’s hand in his own, and pull him close, and kiss him right then and there is so strong that Caleb very nearly breaks his promise to himself and does it. _This is the last chance that you will have_ , he hears a small voice in the back of his head say. _Take it. Take this chance_.

But he can’t. He won’t. Even now, even in this moment, Molly is still his prisoner. Molly is still trapped here, and he will be right up until the ritual is complete and he has been sent back home.

Caleb will only be able to kiss Molly with no concerns of power imbalances when Molly is in another plane of existence all together.

Across the chalked lines of the circle, Molly smiles at him. “Thank you,” he says, his voice soft and quiet. He takes the bracelet, curling his fingers around it until the twine is all but hidden from view, and takes a step back, positioning himself in the centre of the circle. Down by his legs, Caleb watches as his tail curls around one of his own ankles.

He will never feel that soft touch again. The realisation hurts more than it should.

Caleb nods, swallowing, and forces himself to take a step back. Already he can feel the circle starting to hum louder, aware of the demon in its midst, and he knows that the sooner he gets this over and done with, the sooner he can start to really, truly, properly get over Molly and what could never have been. _Like ripping off a bandaid_ , he thinks, and pulls magic to his palms.

Inside the circle, Molly watches as Caleb’s eyes start to glow gold. After that wasted weekend of trying to banish him this is a familiar sight for him to see, but that doesn’t make it any less painful. As he watches Caleb starts to mutter under his breath, shifting his hands and pulling swirling, beautiful golden magic out from beneath his skin, wrapping it close and tight around the circle. Molly can feel it brushing against his own skin, just like it had that morning when he’d woken up in Caleb’s bed, but it’s closer, now, warmer and more wonderful than ever, and it’s awful. He can only feel Caleb’s magic like this because the twine bracelet is no longer on his wrist. He can only feel Caleb’s magic like this because he is never going to see him again.

He is never going to see him again, and he loves him more than he could possibly imagine, and he has to tell him.

He has to tell him _now_.

“Caleb,” Molly says urgently, the word tumbling out of his mouth as magic rises around him, “Caleb, I-”

There’s a bright, sharp flare of gold.

When the light fades, Mollymauk Tealeaf is gone.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful art in this chapter was done by [amothboy](https://amothboy.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on May 6th!


	18. Chapter 18

Molly arrives home and the first thing that he sees is his bathtub, drained and emptied and sparkling clean. There’s no trace of the warm, fragrant water that had filled it to the brim when he’d been summoned all those weeks ago, but it’s undeniably his bathtub, in his home. This room, this space that he’s standing in, is undeniably his home – he recognises the bottles that line the edge of the tub, and he recognises the decorations that adorn the walls, and he recognises the soft, persistent, background bustle of his city. This is his home, in his plane, and he doesn’t want to be here.

He can feel the tears running down his face and does nothing to brush them away. If he can’t cry now, he feels, then when can he? He’s in the Nine Hells, and Caleb is in the material plane, and he didn’t manage to tell Caleb how he felt in time, and now he will- he’ll…

Molly feels his legs start to shake. He sniffles, blinking hard, and carefully sits down on the Hells-heated floor of his bathroom, dropping his head into his hands.

And now he’ll never see Caleb again. He’ll never see Caleb again, and he’ll never speak to him again, and he’ll never again be able to twine his tail around Caleb’s ankle, or take Caleb’s hand in his own, or make Caleb give that tiny, beautiful smile of his that he only gives to Molly when Molly has said something particularly ridiculous and charming.

He’ll never be able to speak to Caleb again, either. Communication between the Hells and the material plane is a one-way thing; Caleb can reach out and talk to him, but Molly cannot contact him first. And, he realises belatedly, he doesn’t think Caleb can even do that. They both know that he was summoned by accident. They both know that Caleb has no idea how to actually summon him, and Molly doesn’t know his summoning components _or_ his summoning glyphs, and it’s just- it’s-

“Shit,” Molly whispers, and he squeezes his eyes shut. There is no golden magic here for him to block out. There is no smell of coffee and old books hanging in the air. There’s just him, sitting like an idiot on his bathroom floor with an overflowing tote bag resting against his legs. Almost absently he reaches out, jamming a hand down to the bottom of the bag until he finds what he’s looking for. He can recognise the object by touch and within moments he draws it out, curling his fingers tightly in the soft, age-worn fabric. It’s smooth beneath his fingers, comforting and familiar, and when he the t-shirt up, burying his face in it, the scent drifting off it is so wonderful and awful that he can feel himself starting to sob.

Woodsmoke. Paper. Amber.

_Caleb_.

Distantly, he hears the sound of footsteps, but he doesn’t look up. He doesn’t look up as they draw closer, doesn’t look up when he hears the bathroom door creak open behind him. It’s only when a voice speaks, soft and concerned, that he lowers Caleb’s t-shirt from his face and half-turns to see Yasha in the doorway, her face creased in worry.

“Molly?” she asks quietly.

Molly opens his mouth but no words come out. He doesn’t have any words. He doesn’t have anything.

“Molly?” Yasha asks again, more concerned, and this time Molly rises on trembling legs, takes two steps forwards, collapses into her arms, and cries.

\---

The days pass.

Caleb continues to work. He continues to prepare spells for clients. He continues to decipher old texts, and spend time with Nott and Beau, and generally live his life as he always has. He feeds Frumpkin, and he goes shopping, and he carefully pushes his special blend of demon-summoning tea to the back of the cupboards so that he doesn’t have to look at it. He avoids Molly’s room as best he can, not looking at the door and speed-walking past it every time he has to pass it to reach the bathroom, and he stops himself from automatically glancing over at the window seat in his office whenever he’s working, hoping against all logic and sense to see a flash of purple, and he quietly keeps on using the same body wash as before, trying desperately hard not to remember how it smelled against Molly’s skin.

He feels it should help that he never gave in to the desire to change his phone wallpaper to one of Molly’s selfies, but it doesn’t. It should help that he has years of experience _not_ sharing his life with Molly, but it doesn’t. He still misses him heart and soul, and there is nothing that he can do to make things better because things don’t get easier. Not really. They _should_ , he feels. From everything that he’s read, everything that he’s heard, he feels that with each passing day it should become easier and easier for him to stop missing Molly. With each passing day, it should be easier for him to forget Molly, to disregard Molly, to accept that his foolish heart was never going to have what it wanted, and to get over Molly entirely. With each passing day, it should be easier.

But it isn’t.

It isn’t easier at all.

He misses Molly. He misses Molly so much that he can feel it like a physical ache, a hollow longing settled between his lungs that persists from day to day. The house feels so quiet without him, like it’s suddenly become much too large for just the three of them, and memories of his presence linger in every room like waiting ghosts. He still sets a place for Molly at the table out of habit; he still makes space for Molly on the couch when spending time in the living room with Nott and Beau. He still glances behind himself when walking into his office, searching for a glimpse of lavender skin, or purple hair, or bright, beautiful red eyes. He knows that Molly is gone. He _knows_ it. Molly is gone, and there is no way that Caleb will be able to see him again, and the sooner that he gets over him the better things will be. The sooner he gets over him, the sooner things will return to normal, and everything will be just how it was before.

He doesn’t know if he wants things to be how they were before. ‘Before’ was fine, yes, but after spending so much time around Molly and the sheer incandescence of his being, hearing his laughter and experiencing the force and delight of his presence, ‘before’ seems like such a shadowed, lonely place. There is no Molly in ‘before’.

And there is no Molly now, either.

He doesn’t know if Nott and Beau notice his quiet, heart-sick pining. Frankly, he doesn’t care if they do. He doesn’t know what Molly was trying to say when he was banished, but he knows that it’s too late, now, to know for sure. He just knows that he misses Molly, misses him like one misses air while drowning, and that his attempts to forget Molly, and put him out of his mind, and get over him and what could never have been, aren’t working in the slightest. He cannot bury himself in his work without thinking about Molly. He cannot distract himself by going on walks without thinking about Molly. Nothing works, and he doesn’t know what to do, and every day the dull, persistent ache in his chest grows heavier. But because he is himself, because he is _Caleb_ , he still tries, in part, to hide it. He still tries to appear to be his normal, content self.

Sadly, Beau and Nott know what Caleb’s normal self is like, and they know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this isn’t it.

“I think he misses Molly,” Beau says absently, sitting at the dining table one day with Nott as Caleb quietly excuses himself to his office, looking even more downcast than usual despite the pancakes that Nott had made for everyone. “Like, he’s been all mopey since he left, you know?” _And_ , she thinks, _that’s putting it lightly_.

Nott gives her a _look_. “You think?” she asks. “He’s like a- a tiny little rain cloud in the house, just drizzling everywhere all the time, all soggy and sad.”

Beau pulls a face. “That’s a kind of weird analogy, Nott.”

“Am I wrong?”

“…No.”

“Exactly.” Nott takes a bite of her pancakes for emphasis, gesticulating with her fork as she continues to speak around them. “He’s all… I don’t know, _drippy_. Like he’s crying on the inside.”

“You mean like internal bleeding? And stop fuckin’ talking with your mouth full, Gods. You’re spraying crumbs all over the table.”

“I’ll spray crumbs wherever I like. I pay rent.”

“This is _my house_.”

“It’s your dad’s house, and I live here too,” Nott points out. “And so does Caleb. Who is the actual subject of this conversation, and not my pancake-eating habits. Which are, if I must say, _exemplary_.”

Beau rolls her eyes. “Uh-huh,” she says. “Sure. I mean, I’m not sure that that’s the word that _I_ would use, but-”

“Can we _please_ just talk about Caleb?”

Beau huffs out a sigh, dropping her head back. “ _Fine_.”

“ _Thank_ you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“It’s just… I’m worried about him,” Nott says quietly. She pushes her plate to one side, drumming her nails against the dining table. “He’s not normally this quiet. He’s _quiet_ , but not _this_ quiet, you know?”

Beau hums. “Mm, yeah, I know. He’s normally, like… thinky-quiet. Like he’s trying to figure out the mysteries of the universe or something like that. This is like… I don’t know…”

“Sad-quiet?”

“Yeah. Sad-quiet. Like he’s in mourning or something _._ ” Beau drops her head to one hand, still staring in the direction of Caleb’s office. “Which, as I said earlier, could be because Molly is gone. He really liked Molly.”

Nott sighs. “I know,” she says. “ _I_ really liked Molly. He was very nice. He was also very, _very_ loud, and he liked the wrong kind of popcorn, but he was nice.”

“Sweet popcorn is not a wrong kind of popcorn, Nott. He was nice, though. A little bit of an asshole-”

“Says you.”

“-shut up – but still, like, a good dude.” Beau taps her fingers thoughtfully against her face, frowning a little. “But he and Caleb did get on really, really well. Like, better than well.” She frowns a bit more, still staring in the general direction of Caleb’s office. “Maybe Caleb should’ve done something about that crush of his…”

There’s a pause from next to her. “…What?” Nott asks quietly.

Beau shrugs. “He had a massive crush on Molly,” she says, still not looking at Nott. She leans to one side a bit, trying to see all the way to the office door, and fails due to the staircase in the way. “Like, _huge._ Like, love-levels of huge. And, I mean, I know it’s kinda shitty for me to tell you, but I didn’t actually promise him that I _wasn’t_ going to tell anyone, and you can’t really tell Molly now, so…” She shrugs again. “Our boy was fuckin’ head over heels, so, y’know, he probably misses Molly a bit.” She pauses. “Maybe more than a bit. Maybe a lot. I don’t know, I don’t know what goes on in that head of his. But that could be why he’s all sad-quiet these days. Missing Molly and all.”

There’s a long, long pause. Beau taps her fingers against her face again, listening absently for any sounds coming from Caleb’s office. She doesn’t know what she’s listening out for. Crying, possibly. It wouldn’t be the first time in the last few weeks that she’s heard the sound of soft, hitching breaths from beyond Caleb’s office or bedroom door, a little bit broken and a little bit stifled in the way that tears sound when someone doesn’t want anyone else to know. In the way that they sound when the person crying them doesn’t want it to be happening. She’s not brought it up with Caleb, or with Nott – because despite what everyone else may say, she’s not _always_ a dick, and she does actually respect her friend’s privacy – but it worries her. Caleb isn’t- he’s not- he’s not _like that_. He’s not a crier, not really. Sure, he gets a bit teary at sad movies, but who doesn’t? Even Beau admits – privately, of course, because she has an image to maintain – that she occasionally gets the sniffles at really sad scenes, like when a dog dies, but beyond that, Caleb is… strong. Even if he doesn’t admit it, he’s strong. He’s _certain_. He knows himself, and he knows his abilities, and even when talking about things happening with Trent in the past, he’s not prone to crying. Even when talking about his parents, he’s not prone to crying. He accepts it, and he does his best to move on, and that’s it.

That’s it.

That isn’t what’s happening now.

Beau can see him trying to move on. She can see it, as surely as she can see Jester’s muscles or Frumpkin’s stripes. She can see how he occasionally stops himself when reaching up for a second mug while making tea in the morning and forces his hand back down. She can see it in how he catches himself from looking over his shoulder for Molly. She can see it in how, sometimes, she’ll come down for dinner just in time to catch Caleb putting away an extra set of crockery, laid out where Molly had always sat. He’s trying, in that particular quiet, certain way of his. And it’s not working. It’s been nearly three weeks, and it’s not working at all.

She knew that he liked Molly. She knew that he liked Molly a lot.

She just hadn’t realised quite how much he’d been affected when Molly had left.

It’s different, she supposes, saying goodbye to a friend when you had been the one to pull the trigger.

After a while, out of the silence, Nott speaks.

“Oh,” she says quietly, and then she speaks again, louder. “Oh, _shit_.”

Beau looks down at her. “What?”

Nott groans, dropping her face into her hands. “Molly had a crush on Caleb,” she mutters, her words muffled but still entirely audible. “I confronted him about it.”

Beau feels her eyes widening. _Fucking shit_. “No-”

“ _Yes_.”

“You didn’t-”

“I told him not to do anything about it – I thought that Caleb already knew.”

“ _Nott_!”

“I _know_!” Nott moans. “It’s Caleb! I love him but he can be _so stupid_ sometimes!”

This time, Beau groans as well. “ _Fuck_ ,” she says. “I told Caleb not to do anything about _his_ crush!”

“Beau!”

“I _know_! I thought Molly didn’t like him back!”

Nott gives a tiny, manic giggle. “I thought Caleb didn’t like _Molly_ back.”

Beau groans again, louder this time. “Gods, I can’t believe we both- _fuck_ , Nott!”

“ _Yeah_.”

“Shit. And here I was thinking that I was saving Caleb from a world of pain by telling him not to go chasing after Molly.”

“I thought that I was saving _Molly_ a world of pain,” Nott mutters into her hands. She lifts her head, peeking up at Beau with large, worried eyes. “We fucked up, didn’t we?”

“…Just a little bit,” Beau admits. “But, I mean, I guess it could’ve been worse.”

“How could it have been worse?”

There’s a pause. Beau opens and closes her mouth a few times, frowning. “Molly… could be… dead?” she says after a while, and then immediately back-tracks upon seeing the expression on Nott’s face. “Which he isn’t! I’m sure of that! He’s fine! And, like, Caleb can still probably talk to him or something, I don’t know, witch magic is fuckin’ bizarre as all shit.”

“Let’s work on the assumption that Molly isn’t dead,” Nott says, and Beau quickly nods.

“Right,” she agrees. “We- yeah, Molly is fine. That’s all cool. We still fucked up, though. Like _badly_.” It feels like the understatement of the god damn century, saying that, but Beau knows she’s not so great with words. For now, an understatement will have to do.

“Yeah,” Nott says with a sigh. “Just a little bit. Just a tiny bit.”

“I can’t believe neither of them noticed.”

“ _Beau_ ,” Nott says. “Look, we can’t just blame them for this! We _also_ didn’t notice! I wouldn’t be surprised if the only person in this entire house who noticed anything was Frumpkin.”

Beau looks out towards the stairs, glancing at where Frumpkin is sitting hallway up the staircase, staring into space like he’s observing the secrets of the universe. Realistically, it’s more likely that he’s observing a spider on the opposite wall and thinking about how best to eat it, but it’s fun to imagine.

She pulls a face. “ _Maybe_. He is a cat, though.”

“He’s a very smart cat.”

“Still a cat.”

“Cats are very perceptive, you know.”

“Look, alright,” Beau says, waving a hand. “Maybe so. Maybe- maybe Frumpkin fuckin’ noticed all this happening and decided not to tell us, _because he’s a cat._ That doesn’t matter, though. What matters is Caleb is fucking miserable as shit, and if Molly does also like Caleb-”

“He really does, Beau.”

“-alright, so he does. That just means that _he’s_ probably miserable as shit too!” Beau sighs. “We’re gonna have to do something.”

“We are.”

There’s a beat of silence. Nott taps her fingers against the table, the sharp, staccato sound echoing through the room. After a moment, Beau turns to look at her. “Nott?”

“Yeah?”

“You can do magic, right?”

Nott shrugs. “I mean, a bit. Caleb’s been teaching me.”

“Cool, cool. I don’t suppose you’d be able to, y’know…” She trails off, waving a hand towards the other end of the room. Nott follows the gesture, looking over the bookcases and window seat, and then looks back to Beau with a frown.

“I could what?”

“Y’know… like…” She waves her hand again. “You could summon a demon, right?”

Nott blinks at her. To Beau, they look similar to the blinks that Frumpkin gives when he’s been baffled by something. “I- what?”

“You could summon a demon,” she repeats, almost defensively. “Just, y’know, find the right spell or whatever, and then just kinda, _poof_ , bring Molly back? Stop Caleb from being so upset all the time?”

“I wish I could summon a demon, Beau.”

“Shit. I thought it would be a nice surprise for Caleb.”

“It would be a nice surprise,” Nott agrees, giving a small hum. “It would be a very nice surprise, if I could do it. But even if I was as powerful as Caleb – which is very, _very_ hard to be, he’s very talented – I still don’t think I’d be able to summon Molly. I don’t know any of the sigils or anything.”

There’s a long, long pause.

“Fuck,” Beau says succinctly. “We’re going to have to talk to Caleb, aren’t we?”

Nott grins at her. It’s a familiar grin, a grin that Beau has seen plenty of times before, and it terrifies her. She knows that grin. It’s the same grin that Nott gets when she’s figured out a loophole in something. It’s the same grin that she gets behind the wheel of Caleb’s car. It’s quietly, deeply unsettling, and it’s pointed directly at Beau.

“Oh, no,” Nott says. “ _We’re_ not going to. But _you_ are.”

\---

Beau doesn’t speak to Caleb until later that day. She waits until he leaves his office, and waits until he has had lunch, and waits until he retreats back upstairs before following him up an hour or so later. She hovers outside the shut door, hoping against hope that she doesn’t hear any quiet sniffling. Caleb had seemed fine today, more or less – he’d seemed fine in the way that he’s seemed to be fine every day since Molly left, in such a way that only Beau and Nott and other people who are close to him can really tell the difference. Beau leans back against the wall, resting her head against it with a sigh, and, just for a moment, lets herself settle. Lets herself wait. What she’s about to do, what she’s about to tell Caleb… it’s going to be big, and important, and she doesn’t want to fuck it up. She can only hope that she’s caught Caleb at a good moment.

Unbeknownst to her, on the other side of the door, it’s about as good a moment as it’s possible to be. Caleb’s sitting up on his bed, his feet resting on the floor and his book of fairytales lying open on his lap, turned to a random page. Beneath his fingertips, words worn soft and faded with time pattern the page, skirting around the illustration splashed across the top half of the paper. It’s a familiar illustration, familiar the way everything in this book is; Caleb knows it as well as he knows himself, knows it as well as he knows his magic, but, right now, he cannot see it. Right now, he cannot see his own fingers, with their bitten-short nails, tracing the lines of text and the curves of the drawing.

Right now, all he can see is a purple-skinned hand running so, so gently over the pages, iridescent nail polish shining and sparkling in the sunlight. Right now, all he can see is a woven bracelet resting above skin turned red and blue and green with patterned, twisting ink.

He can remember the touch of that hand, their fingers woven together, hands resting on the pillow between them. He can remember so very clearly the softness in Molly’s eyes, in his face, as if Caleb was something precious and beautiful to be loved and treasured. He can remember, even in his sleep-muddled state, reminding himself not to follow that thought any further.

Against the back of his hand, he feels a small splash of dampness. He lifts his hand, brushing it against his face and quickly wiping away the gathering tears, and shuts his eyes just for a moment, cutting the book and its familiar pages from his vision. For a moment he rests in the soft, quiet darkness, trying his very best not to think about anything at all, and it’s only when he hears someone knocking at the door that his eyes fly open. For a moment, just for a moment, his heart leaps with the hope that it might be Molly, miraculously returned, but a second later that hope is crushed. This is not the quick, _tap-tap-tap_ knock of Molly. This is Beau.

Caleb clears his throat, sitting up a bit straighter and hoping that Beau will not be able to hear the thickness in his voice. “ _Ja_?”

“Caleb?” Beau calls from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

Caleb pauses. He knows that, if he wanted her to leave, he would only have to say so and she would, but right now, her presence feels like a welcome distraction. While Beau is here, while he is talking to Beau, he doesn’t have to think about Molly. While Beau is here, he doesn’t have to remember how carefully Molly had held the book, how softly he’d spoken with Caleb. He doesn’t have to remember Molly’s closeness, or the sound of his voice, or any of that. He just has to talk to Beau.

He sighs, waving a hand in the general direction of the door and tugging it open with a thread of golden magic. He doesn’t watch Beau approach but he just about hears her, her feet near-silent on the carpeted floor as she enters the room.

“Hey,” she says quietly, crossing the room to sit down on the bed next to him.

Caleb glances over at her, mustering a small, faint smile. “ _Hallo_ ,” he replies softly.

Beau raises a hand, scratching at her undercut. “You, uh, you doing alright?”

Caleb shrugs. He doesn’t know anymore, not really. He knows that he’s still working more or less efficiently, and that his spells are still going well, and that, on the surface, to anyone who doesn’t know him, he appears to be fine, but he doesn’t know if he would say that he’s _alright_. He doesn’t want to lie to Beau. He knows that she’s been watching him, she and Nott both, and knows that she’s likely put two and two together. She knows that he’s hurting.

He just doesn’t know how much of it she sees.

He’s alright, though. Despite the ache in his chest, and the numbness in his bones, and the sensation that some part of him got banished alongside Molly, he’s alright. He’s fine.

He’s coping.

“ _Ja_ ,” he says eventually. The word feels clunky on his tongue. “I- _ja_.”

“Uh-huh.” Beau doesn’t seem convinced, but Caleb understands why. Even to him, he hadn’t sounded convincing in the slightest. “Just ‘cause, well, not to put too fine a point on it, but you kind of look like shit.” Caleb doesn’t have anything to say to that. He just shrugs, running his fingers over the pages of the book again before shutting it and placing it down beside him on the bed. For a while they lapse into silence, sitting side by side in his bedroom with the air growing still between them. “Listen,” Beau says eventually, plucking at the bedspread beneath her. “I, uh, I was talking to Nott earlier…”

Caleb raises an eyebrow, looking over at her. “Oh?”

“Yeah, and we were talking about you, and, uh, all of…” She trails off, waving a hand in Caleb’s general direction, and Caleb frowns.

“All of my what?”

“All of your, y’know.” She waves her hand again. “The whole, like, being gloomy as shit thing you’ve got going on.”

“…Oh.” He supposes it’s not entirely inaccurate, much as he may wish otherwise. “I, um, I am- I am sorry about that, I-”

“No, no, it’s cool, I kinda get why you’re being a downer about all of this,” Beau interrupts hastily. “Like, you miss Molly, I see that, I get it. I miss him too, the purple asshole.” She glances down, plucking at the bedspread again. “He was- he wasn’t actually _that_ much of an asshole. He was kind of nice, in his own weird, demon-ey way.”

Caleb feels himself smiling, just a little. “He was,” he agrees softly. “He was, ah, he was very nice. I- I liked him.”

“I know,” Beau says quietly, looking up at Caleb. Her hands fall still, her entire body language shifting just slightly, and Caleb feels something in his blood turn cold. He doesn’t know where this conversation is going, and he doesn’t like to be unaware.

“Beauregard?” he asks quietly. “What is- why are you here? We have already- we’ve spoken about my- about- about how I feel for Mollymauk.” His name feels so familiar on Caleb’s tongue, even now. It feels like it’s meant to be there. “Can we- I do not want to go over this again.”

“I wasn’t actually going to talk about that,” Beau says, and something about her tone gives Caleb pause. “I mean, what I’m talking about is kind of adjacent to that, but, like, it’s not _exactly_ that - I didn’t actually know this, only Nott did, but it’s a very similar thing and-”

“ _Beauregard_.”

“Molly liked you,” Beau blurts out, and in that moment the coldness in Caleb’s veins turns to ice. “Turns out that while we were having our little chat, Nott was having a little chat of her own with Molly, and he- fuck, I still don’t know how the fuck I missed it early, but Molly _liked you_ , Caleb. Like, a lot. As much as you liked him, apparently.” She looks at him, clearly recognising the expression on his face. When she speaks again, her voice is softer. “She wouldn’t lie. Not about that. You know that, Caleb.”

Caleb swallows. “ _Ja_ ,” he says, his voice flat. “I- _ja_ , I know that.” He is not doubting that, not in the slightest. He trusts both Nott and Beau implicitly, trusts them with his life, and he knows that they would never lie to him. Not about something as important as this.

All the same, despite what this means, despite how much he can feel himself wanting to laugh and cry and be so wonderfully, entirely _delighted_ at this news, at the knowledge that Molly feels for him what he feels so strongly for Molly… he can’t. He can’t let himself do that. He lapses into silence, staring down at the floor beneath his feet. He can’t think about this. He can’t let himself think about it.

This is wonderful, and it’s terrible, and it hurts so much that it feels like every cell in his body has frozen into a thousand shattered pieces.

“Caleb?” Beau asks after an uncomfortable pause. She leans in a bit closer to him, and even without looking at her Caleb just knows that she’s frowning. “Are you- what’s- not to assume anything, dude, but I kind of figured you’d be happy about this.”

Caleb breathes in slowly, feeling the air settle in his lungs like icicles. “Beauregard?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you tell me this?”

“I-” Beau pauses. “I thought it would make you less gloomy. Because you’d know that your crush and- and your feeling and love and all that are actually returned.”

Caleb swallows. He doesn’t focus on the word ‘love’, doesn’t _let_ himself focus on it. He can’t. He can’t, not even for one second, because focusing on that word, focusing on what this actually means, will only make things so, so much worse.

This, already, has only made things worse.

There is hope in his heart now, yes, but it’s drowned out, overwhelmed by longing and pain and a quiet, seeping fury. Whether Beau knows it or not – and she can’t, she mustn’t have known – all she has done now is shatter Caleb’s heart further. Before this, before any of this, he could at the very least tell himself that it didn’t matter that he never did anything, because none of his feelings were returned. Before this, he could convince himself that this _was_ for the better, because he’ll eventually get over his feelings, and he kept his promise to himself and never bothered Molly, and they will both be the better for it.

But now, knowing this, knowing that Molly felt just the same way, that they could have had something, that he could have actually walked up to Molly, and taken his hand, and kissed his cheek and his jaw and his lips, and held him, and loved him openly and wholly and entirely… to know that, and to know that Molly would have wanted it to, and that because of his own actions they will never, ever be able to have that… that hurts more than anything else.

“Beauregard?” Caleb asks quietly. Even to him, his words sound as sharp and as cold as steel.

Beau gives a small hum. “Yeah?”

“What difference does it make?”

“What difference- Caleb, what the fuck are you on about?” Beau asks, her voice now edged with confusion. “What _difference_? All the fuckin’ difference, surely! Nott and I have finally figured our shit out and now you know that Molly likes you back, that your crush and feelings and all that weren’t just one-sided, and you could actually _do something_ about all of this-”

“ _Ja_ , and what difference does it make?” Caleb snaps back, flinging his hands down. “So you have figured out that maybe you made a mistake, so what? You have realised that- that maybe I did like Molly, and that maybe he liked me, and that neither of us did anything because we- because we were afraid, and because we thought the other did not like us back, and because you and Nott _told_ us not to do anything? I am not saying that you were wrong to do that, Beauregard, but what difference will it make, telling me now that Molly liked me just as much as I liked him?”

Beau swallows. “Caleb-”

“ _What difference will it make_?” he asks again. He can feel tears pushing at the corners of his eyes, hot and damp and ready to fall at a moments notice. He won’t let them. He can’t. “He is not here, Beauregard. He is- he is in the Hells, where he belongs. Where his home is.”

“So summon him again.”

“I _can’t_.” He’s not going to cry. He’s _not_. “I don’t- I don’t know how. You _know_ this. He came here by accident, and I never asked him what his summoning components are, and not all demons even know them.” He swallows, pushing the tears back. “He liked me, and I liked him, and that is it. I can’t- there is nothing that I can do about it now. He is in the Hells, and I am here. And that is it. There is nothing I can do.”

There’s a long, long pause. Caleb looks back down, twisting his hands together in his lap. He wants- he doesn’t _know_ what he wants, not right now. Three weeks ago, before Molly had left, this is exactly what he would have loved to hear, what he _longed_ to hear. But now, with Molly so far away and so impossible to reach, it just hurts. It hurts in an awful, empty, icy sort of way; where before he had just felt numb and hollow, now he feels frozen, every breath sharp and stabbing and twitching with held-back sobs. He wishes Molly were here. He wishes he didn’t know.

Just for a moment, he wishes more than anything that Molly had never even arrived here in the first place. Just for a moment, he wishes that he had never met Molly, and that none of this had ever happened.

But then that moment passes, and Caleb knows that he wouldn’t give these last few months with Molly up for anything.

From beside him, he hears Beau give a soft, thoughtful sigh. “Caleb?”

He hums. “Mm?”

“You know how you’re an idiot sometimes?”

“I, _ja_ -”

“You’re being an idiot right now.”

Caleb opens his mouth, frowning, but doesn’t actually manage to say anything. Out of everything that Beau could have said, out of every direction that this conversation could have taken, that was the one that he was least expecting. “ _Was_?”

Beau sighs again, half-turning on the bed to face him. “ _You_ ,” she says, “are a proper _fucking_ idiot sometimes. You realise that?”

“What are you saying-”

“All that stuff you just talked about? All your- your components and everything?” She draws in a breath, pulling herself upright, and her next words are snapped. “ _Fuck them_. You’re a _witch,_ Caleb,” she continues, leaning forwards and jabbing him in the chest. “ _I_ am the wizard here, not you. I need- I’m the one who fuckin’ needs everything to be exact and perfect, you know? I’m the one who’s gotta have exactly the right type of crystal, and the right plant harvested on the right date, and the right runes-”

“Sigils,” Caleb interrupts absently.

“-sigils, whatever, just _shut up_ for a second, okay? I’m the sad sack who needs all of that shit.” She jabs his chest again. “ _You_ don’t. You told me that yourself, Widogast. You told me that you just need the correct intent to summon someone, and all the rest of it can get fucked. Yeah, so maybe you still need some other magical shit - so _what_? You’ve _got_ all of that already in your office, or in one of the pantries of holding.” She pauses, taking a calming breath before continuing. “You’re really fuckin’ smart, Caleb. You know that, and I know that, and Nott knows that, and Molly knows that. You don’t need to know exactly what to drop in his summoning circle to call him back. You _know_ him, you dipshit. Get your intent together, or whatever the fuck it is that you do, and _summon_ him.” She reaches out, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him until he finally looks up to meet her gaze. “Caleb,” she says again, softer. “You like him, and he likes you, and that was _my_ fuck-up, okay? That- this- this is all on me. So I’m gonna fix it.” She shakes his shoulder again, giving a small, faint smile. “Summon him. He probably misses you just as much as you miss him.”

For a moment, for one tiny, fleeting moment, Caleb lets himself hope. He lets himself hope that Beau is right, and that his abilities are good enough for him to summon a demon with no sigils, or components, or anything. He knows that he’s a competent witch, knows that his skills are more than respectable, but this is- this would be- this would be _different_.

_This would let me see Molly again_ , he thinks, and feels something akin to certainty start to dislodge the numb ache in his chest. _This would let me speak to him again._

_This would let me tell him how I feel_.

“I-” he starts. His throat feels thick, blocked with tears, and he swallows before letting himself speak again. “I- Beauregard…”

Beau squeezes his shoulder. “Caleb,” she says. “ _Summon him_. Summon him, and kiss him, and be as gross and as sappy as you like, and be _happy_ , okay? Be happy, and be with Molly. You can do this. I _know_ you can.”

On his cheeks, Caleb feels the tears start to run. This time, he doesn’t stop them. This time, they do not hurt.

“Okay,” he says eventually. For the first time in a while, he feels something warm stir in his chest. “I- okay. I will summon Mollymauk.”

\---

Caleb doesn’t summon Molly. Not immediately. It simply isn’t what he does – he has a routine that he follows when summoning demons, for whatever purpose, and he intends to stick to it. Besides, he still doesn’t know – not for sure, not for absolute certain – how Molly feels about him _now_. Beau told him that Molly liked and had- and had a _crush_ on him (which is still almost impossible for Caleb to entirely comprehend), but it’s been almost three weeks now. Molly could have moved on. He could have looked at the situation, and realised his mistake, and realised what a terrible idea it was to get a crush on a witch from the material plane. So many things could have changed. So many things could be different by now.

Caleb is not going to summon Molly at random. Not now.

It’s easy enough for him to collect what he needs from his office, holding his small, half-formed plan in mind. What he’s about to do is not anything that he’s ever attempted before. For all that he is a witch, able to work perfectly fine with somewhat incorrect components and glyphs so long as he has the right intent in mind, he acts almost like a wizard. He likes everything to be correct and exact, with no risk of failure of accidents. He likes to be certain with what he’s doing. He likes to know for sure that when he goes to the kitchen to make tea, he won’t return to the dining room to find a naked, purple demon sprawled in his summoning circle.

Gods, if only he knew how to summon Molly for certain. If only. He still wouldn’t do it immediately, of course, but it would ease the ache somewhat if he did know. If he was capable of summoning Molly, of putting together the right components and sigils and calling Molly forth to this plane, then everything would be so much _easier_. _Contacting_ Molly would be so much easier.

Caleb reaches out with a sigh, taking the contact-crystal from his desk. He still remembers carefully setting out the quick pencil-sketch circle to contact Yasha, still remembers setting up her summoning circle and calling her through to surprise Molly. He still remembers the delight on Molly’s face, and the joy of their hug, and how Molly had pressed a kiss to his cheek in thanks when Yasha had finally gone home. He remembers how easy it all was.

Not this time. This time, there are no books that he can check for Molly’s summoning components that he has not checked already. He cannot prepare this, or research this, or double- and triple-check Infernal glyphs that he can barely read. There is just his magic, and himself. Beneath his fingers the crystal feels rough, cold and lifeless and no different to any other chunk of rock, but it’s still familiar. He has summoned so many demons in his time. He has contacted so many other beings. He can do this. He knows he can.

He has to.

With the crystal heavy in his hands, Caleb turns and leaves his office behind him. Almost entirely unbidden, he finds his feet carrying him out into the hallway, up the stairs, and down the short corridor of the landing above. He finds himself standing just outside Molly’s room, listening to the birds singing quietly in the garden outside.

He finds himself reaching out with a steady, careful hand, and opening the door to let himself in.

Molly’s room has remained untouched since he left. None of his items remain but the bedsheets are still slightly dishevelled, the pillows creased in such a way that can only come from someone with horns having slept on them, and, even now, Caleb can faintly smell the incense and spice of Molly’s skin. For a moment, all he can do is hover in the open doorway, gazing into the space and watching as the late spring sunlight catches on the drifting dust motes, their swirling, sun-soaked dance the only motion in the entire room.

Caleb swallows. There are so many memories here. They seem to envelope him, embrace him, murmuring against his skin and drawing themselves up from the back of his mind until all he can see is Molly, sitting upright in bed with his eyes glowing in the darkness, tears shining like crystals on his lashes. He remembers that moment, that wonderful moment, when Molly had opened all six of his eyes to Caleb; he remembers feeling his breath catch in his chest, remembers feeling his heart skip a beat, remembers looking at Molly and saying, _they’re lovely_. And saying, _they’re beautiful_.

He remembers how badly he’d wanted to reach out, and take Molly’s hand, and just hold it in the soft, still darkness of his room.

With slow, careful steps, Caleb approaches Molly’s bed. He knows that, really, it is the guest bed, in the guest bedroom, but he cannot shake the association from his mind. This is where Molly had stayed for those long, wonderful months. This is where he had spoken with Molly, spent time with Molly, longed to lean in and kiss Molly time and time again. This is Molly’s space through and through, and the emptiness sings to Caleb like an echo. The bedsheets rustle quietly as he sits down on them, shifting beneath him, and for a moment all he can do is breathe in, and feel the perfume of Molly’s skin settle in his lungs, and wait for his heart to stop aching.

Except there is no more waiting, not anymore. There is no more waiting, and there is no more dreaming, and there is no more telling himself that this cannot be. He trusts Nott and Beau – he trusts that they will not lie to him, and even if Molly _has_ moved on, it will be better to know. The very worst that could happen – beyond the spell failing to find Molly at all – is that Molly doesn’t want to talk to him.

And the very best that could happen…

Caleb shuts his eyes, and tries to stifle the smile that crosses his face at the mere thought of hearing Molly’s voice again, and talking to him, and having Molly tell him that he feels the same way.

_No more waiting_. He has waited too long, and his heart has grown too weary to wait much longer. He looks down, turning the crystal between his palms, and starts to channel his magic into it, watching it light up gold beneath the clouded, smoky surface. He has never attempted this before, this method of contacting a demon without knowing the exact components of their ritual, but it’s possible. It _has_ to be possible.

_He will make this work_.

There are no sigils, not this time. There are no sigils, and no components, and no _nothing_. There is nothing but Caleb, alone in Molly’s bedroom with a heart worn tired from longing and loss.

Caleb squeezes his eyes shut. _Please_ , he thinks, _please let this work._ Between his hands the crystal hums, pulsing faintly with golden-amber light. It feels warm against his palms, as warm as Molly’s skin had felt when he’d woken up to Molly cuddling him, and, just for a moment, Caleb thinks that he can smell incense and spice drifting from demon-hot skin. Just for a moment he thinks that he can feel Molly’s tail curling around his ankle, the touch as faint as a breeze and as familiar as the constellations.

_Please_ , he thinks again. It’s more than a hope, more than a prayer. _Let this be enough_.

He has no way of knowing. He has no way of checking. All he has is his magic, and his abilities, and the awful, longing ache in his chest. All he has are his memories of Molly. Of Molly beneath the open, moon-hung skies, his skin painted by starlight and his mouth quirked into a soft smile as he oh-so patiently taught Caleb his own language, their hands clasped together. Of Molly, comfortable and warm on Caleb’s lap, laughing at something that Yasha said as his tail wrapped close and tight around Caleb’s ankle - a tiny, perfect tether.

Of Molly in his bed, beneath his sheets, his eyes glowing a perfect constellation in the night-shadowed room. Of Molly’s hand in his own, resting on the mattress between them. Of Molly’s smile, and the line of his jaw, and the feeling of his tail once again brushing over Caleb’s ankle before holding tight like Molly would never dream of letting go.

Caleb can still remember the touch of his tail. He can still remember what it had felt like to hold Molly’s hand in his own, and to wake with Molly’s heart beating against his own, and to imagine, for one perfect, beautiful moment, that things could always be like that.

Caleb Widogast breathes in, breathes out, and then he weaves his magic into the crystal, holds every memory of Molly in his mind, and _tugs_. He can feel his magic stretching, seeking, searching for the tiny gaps between planes that it can slip through to form a connection. It flickers, the crystal’s rhythmic glow briefly faltering, and for one brief, horrible moment, Caleb thinks that the spell may have failed altogether.

But then he feels his magic settle, and the crystal grows stable once more. Somewhere in the Nine Hells, someone has just been connected to this plane, just enough for their voice to filter through, and Caleb doesn’t know who that person is. In theory, it could be anyone. There were no sigils in place to help guide his magic, not this time. There were no lines of Infernal script to tell it which individual it was supposed to be seeking out. There was only his hope, and his memories, and nothing else. All he can do now is speak, and hope against hope that his magic found Molly.

That _he_ found Molly.

_Please_ , he thinks one last time, and then he opens his mouth and speaks.

“Um,” he starts, immediately clearing his throat. “I, um, ah, _hallo_. I am- my name is Caleb. I am hoping that this is Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

There’s a long, empty pause.

And then, from an entirely different plane altogether, Molly speaks, soft, and quiet, and unmistakably delighted.

“ _Caleb!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be posted on May 13th!


	19. Chapter 19

It’s only been three weeks, but the moment that Caleb hears Molly’s voice he feels like he can finally breathe again. It feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest, freeing his lungs and stopping them from aching so painfully, and from that single word alone he can feel his mouth twitching up in a smile. _Molly_. That was Molly’s voice. Caleb would recognise it anywhere, he knows he would; it’s a voice that he knows as well as his own, as well as Nott’s, as well as Beau’s. It’s Molly, and Molly is speaking to him, and he feels his entire heart sing.

“ _Hallo_ ,” he says around his smile, his voice so soft that it barely disturbs the drifting dust motes. At the other end of the crystal he hears Molly give a short, delighted laugh, and it sounds like sunlight and moonlight and starlight all at once. It sounds beautiful, and Caleb has missed it so, so much.

“ _Caleb!_ ” Molly says again. He laughs again, bright and joyous, and Caleb shuts his eyes, leaning forwards over the crystal as he basks in the sound of it. _Molly_ , he thinks, and his whole heart feels warm. _Molly, Molly, Molly_. Beneath his fingertips, the crystal is warm, too, pulsing softly and radiating heat through his hands, and it’s so, so close to the warmth of Molly’s skin.

_Molly_ , he thinks again, and feels his smile widen. _Mollymauk_.

“Hi,” he says. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know what else he _can_ say, doesn’t know how to take the brightness burning behind his ribs like a star and show it to Mollymauk because it is _his_. “I- _hallo_.”

“ _What did- how did- how in the Hells did you do this, Caleb?”_ Molly asks, but there’s no annoyance to his tone. There’s just that same delight, the same delight and joy and wonder that Caleb is feeling, and all of a sudden, Caleb realises that he was right to hope. In Molly’s voice, he can hear the same warmth that he knows is in his chest. In Molly’s voice, he can hear the same aching, open fondness.

In Molly’s voice, he can hear the very same love that he feels.

“ _I mean, I don’t even know my own summoning components,”_ Molly continues, unaware of the emotions coursing through Caleb’s veins. “ _Or my sigils, or any of that. Fuck, I thought I was completely off-record! Even Yasha wouldn’t know how to summon me.”_

Caleb smiles. He can’t help it, no more than he can help the rising of the sun or the setting of the moon. “I, ah, I do not actually need components to contact you, Mollymauk. Just your sigils.”

“ _But I don’t know them! And you said ages ago that you couldn’t find them because you needed them to send me home.”_ Molly’s tone shifts, drifting closer to awe. “ _How did you do it? Because, I mean, I’m not complaining, love. Not in the slightest. I’m very, very happy to hear your voice again. I’m just very confused.”_

Caleb gives a short, bashful chuckle, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “I, um, I may have… you know how I am a witch?”

“ _Yeah_?”

“We do not- we don’t- we do not _necessarily_ need the exact sigils and components to summon or talk to someone. They do help a lot, but we can do without them.”

“ _So what do you need, if you don’t need those_?” Caleb can hear the unspoken question: _and why didn’t you do it earlier?_

He swallows. “Intent,” he answers simply. “We need- we need the correct, um, motivation. To do something- something like this.”

“ _Yeah?”_ Molly asks, and there’s something warm to his words now, warm and a little bit surprised, as if he can read the meaning behind Caleb’s words and doesn’t know whether to believe it or not. _“If I may be so bold as to ask, Mr Caleb, what intent did you have in mind when contacting me?_ ”

_I needed to tell you that I love you_ , Caleb thinks. In his chest, his heart feels as warm as the sun. _I needed to tell you that I love you, because I do, and because you love me, and we have both been fools for long enough. Because I needed to speak to you again. Because I-_

“I needed to hear your voice,” he says, his voice soft and quiet. “I- I have missed you, Mollymauk. I have missed you a lot.” _Too much_. “And I- I wanted to speak to you again.”

“ _Caleb_ ,” Molly says. The word is soft, fond and familiar, and it sounds like honey on Molly’s tongue, like the silence of night and the comfortable quiet of Caleb’s office. It sounds like warmth, like an embrace, and just for a moment Caleb shuts his eyes, letting the sound of his name on Molly’s lips envelop him entirely. He has missed this more than he has the words to describe. He has missed Molly’s voice, and Molly’s touch, and Molly’s smile and his laugh and the comfort of his presence, of the touch of his tail around his ankle. He has missed _Molly_ , and to hear Molly speaking his name again is so wonderful that he cannot possibly keep himself from smiling.

“Mollymauk,” he replies.

“ _That’s very sweet of you, love_.”

“I am- I am not sure I would call it _sweet_ -”

“ _Caleb?_ ”

“… _Ja_?”

“ _You’re a dear. Let me tell you that you’re being sweet, alright_?”

Caleb smiles. “Alright,” he says quietly. He looks down at his hands, watching as the crystal glows softly between them. Just from this, from this short conversation, he already feels so much more relaxed than he did earlier. Talking to Molly is easy, as easy as breathing, and Caleb barely even pauses to think before he speaks again. “I, ah... there was actually another reason that I contacted you.”

“ _Oh_?”

“ _Ja_.” For a moment, just for a moment, Caleb feels an edge of worry start to slip around his heart, chasing ice along his veins, but he pushes it away. He’s not going to be afraid. He’s not going to avoid this. Beau told him, told him with absolute certainty that Molly likes him, that his feelings for Molly aren’t just one-sided, and even now, he can still remember the touch of Molly’s tail around his ankle. He can still remember how it had felt to hold Molly’s hand in his own and look at him, grinning beneath the silver tapestry of the universe. He can remember Molly resting in his lap, soft and smiling. He can remember playing with Molly’s hair, and feeling Molly holding onto his sleeve. He can remember Molly comforting him, kissing his forehead, holding him close and tight and promising with absolute certainty that he would not let Caleb come to harm. He remembers Molly’s hand on his most beloved book, remembers learning Infernal in the darkness of the garden, remembers their hands brushing and their knees bumping and every other small moment of closeness.

He remembers loving Molly.

He remembers longing to tell him.

And, now, he can.

“I like you,” Caleb blurts out. He can feel himself grinning, wide and joyous and absolutely delighted. There’s no fear, not anymore. He likes Molly, and Molly likes him, and all he has to do is _tell him_. “I- I really like you, Mollymauk. A lot. In a, um. In a romantic way.”

There’s a pause, just for a few seconds, and Caleb feels his heart start to sink.

“ _Oh,”_ Molly says quietly. To Caleb’s ears, there sounds like there might be a waver to his voice, soft and faint but audible all the same. “ _I- right. Okay. You-…_ ” Molly trails off, lapsing into silence, and then after another few seconds he asks in the softest, most uncertain voice Caleb has ever heard from him, “ _Really?_ ”

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb says immediately. He does his best to push his fear and doubt aside, keeping his tone as certain as he possibly can. He _does_ like Molly. Hells, he loves Molly. He loves him so much that the silence of his absence has felt like a physical ache in his chest, that he still catches himself hoping for a glimpse of purple skin as he moves throughout the house. He misses Molly, and he loves him, and he needs him to know, because Molly loves him too.

Or, at least, Molly _did_ love him three weeks ago. Caleb doesn’t know how quick Molly is to move on, but he hopes, hopes so very desperately, that he still feels some of what he felt when Caleb banished him.

At the other end of the connection, he hears Molly draw in a long, shaky breath. “ _Oh_ ,” he says again. “ _Oh, fuck, Gods and devils, that’s a_ -” He breaks off, giving a short, surprised laugh, and Caleb feels himself starting to smile again. “ _Fuck, Caleb! You have- you have no idea how much of a relief it is to hear you say that, oh my Gods!”_

Caleb smiles. That certainly sounds promising. “A relief? Why?”

_“Because I like you too!”_ Molly says, breathless from joy and laughter. “ _I- shit, I’ve been head over tail for you for ages, love, I just never- I didn’t think- fuck, Caleb, I had no idea! I thought you just liked me as a friend, not as- not as this! I was fucking_ dreaming _of this. I-_ ” Molly laughs again, the sound a little muffled like he’s trying to cover his mouth with one hand. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers again. “ _You really like me_.”

“It is- is actually, ah, it is a bit more than ‘like’,” Caleb admits quietly. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, can feel his palms growing sweaty, but despite that, he doesn’t actually feel afraid. He doesn’t feel worried. This is Molly, and he trusts Molly to hold his heart. “It is, um-”

“ _You love me,_ ” Molly whispers.

Caleb swallows. “ _Ja_ ,” he says, surprised to hear that his voice isn’t wavering at all. “ _Ja_ , Mollymauk, I do.”

“ _I-_ Caleb,” Molly says and already his tone is brighter, warm and soft and as delighted as Caleb feels. “ _How long have you known_?”

“Ah… about _this_ , or my feelings in general?”

“ _How about both?_ ”

“Oh! Oh, _ja_ , I can tell you that.” Caleb lifts a hand, scratching the back of his head. “Well, I, ah, I first knew that I had a- a crush on you when we were… when we… do you remember when I taught you the constellations?”

“ _Yeah_?”

“It was- it was then.”

Molly laughs softly. “ _Really_?”

“Mmhmm.”

“ _You’re not going to believe me, love, but I actually realised that I liked you rather a lot then, as well._ ”

Caleb smiles. “And then we decided to wait all this time to actually tell each other.”

“ _Yeah! Yeah, we did! And speaking of, why did you only think to tell me this_ now?” Molly asks, demanding and so happy that Caleb can _hear_ his smile, and Caleb laughs.

“I was worried!” he says. “I was- Mollymauk, I had no idea that you felt the same way, and I didn’t- I did not wish to worry you, or upset you, or- or _force_ myself on you when you were still my prisoner. I did not believe that you- that you _could_ feel the same way back, and so I didn’t- I didn’t do anything.”

“ _Caleb_ ,” Molly says again, but he’s laughing now, the sound of it as bright and as sparkling as crystal. “ _Gods and devils, Caleb, how could you_ not _see how smitten I was?_ ”

“I thought I was getting my hopes up! I - do not laugh at me, Mollymauk Tealeaf, you were doing _exactly_ the same thing and you know it – I thought I was trying to fool myself. I did not realise that you- that you…”

“ _That I felt the same way_?” Molly finishes for him, and Caleb swallows and nods.

“ _Ja_.”

“ _When did you- how did you figure out that it wasn’t just you?_ ”

“Beau spoke to me,” Caleb admits. “She told me that she was talking to Nott, and that it turns out that while she was having a conversation with me before you left, Nott was having one with you, and we both- we were both- _Mollymauk_ -”

“ _We were both idiots_ ,” Molly interrupts, and he’s laughing now, loudly and properly, and it’s the best thing that Caleb has ever heard. “ _We’re- Gods and devils, Caleb, we’re idiots!_ ”

“We are.” He’s grinning. He’s grinning so widely that he can feel his cheeks starting to ache from it, and he doesn’t care in the slightest. “We really are, Mollymauk. We- this whole time-”

“ _You_ love _me_ -”

“- _ja,_ I do, I really do, and-”

“ _And I love you-_ ”

“ _Ja_!” He laughs again, lifting a hand to brush a tear from the corner of his eye, and flops over backwards onto Molly’s bed, holding the glowing crystal close to his chest. It’s warm, pressing against his skin and seeping into his bones like sunlight, and everything around him smells of Molly, of incense and spice, filling his lungs and wrapping around him like an embrace. Like _Molly’s_ embrace. The crystal hums with magic, passing their words between planes, and as he laughs again he can feel another tear slip from his eye, but it’s _good_ , it’s alright, he’s so happy that he’s actually crying from it and he loves Mollymauk so much that he can barely think. He loves Molly, loves his smile and his hair and the tattoos that wrap around his skin, and he loves his kindness and his sarcasm and his wit, and he _loves him_.

He loves him.

And now, Molly knows that too.

Caleb lifts his hands, covering his eyes as he continues to grin. He’s so _happy_ , happier than he can ever remember being. The afternoon sunlight is painted across the room, brushing warmth and gold along his skin, and he feels incandescent, like he’s full of the starlight that he adores so much. He’s so damn happy that he doesn’t even know what to do beyond laugh, and smile, and generally roll around like a love-struck fool because he _is_ a love-struck fool, and because he knows, now, that he is not the only one.

“Mollymauk?” he mumbles, his words half-muffled by his hands.

“ _Yeah_?”

Caleb grins wider still. There is no fear, no worry, no doubt. “I love you.” He can’t see Molly, but he doesn’t need to in order to know how Molly is reacting. He can picture it so clearly - he can picture Molly’s smile, and Molly’s posture, and the way that his tail is almost certainly whipping around behind him, swishing back and forth in excitement and delight.

All the way in the Nine Hells, Molly gives another happy laugh, and makes a sound that could almost be a sniffle. When he speaks again, his voice sounds a bit thicker. “ _Caleb_?”

“Mm?”

“ _I love you too. I- so much,_ _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ. So much.”_

Caleb beams, not even trying to stop himself from wiggling in place on the bed. There’s so- there’s so _much_ , so much joy and so much delight and so much wonder and so much _love_ , and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He can feel it chasing through his veins like bubbles, buoying him up and pushing away the numbness in his chest to fill it with starlight instead. He just feels so damn _happy,_ and every word that Molly says only makes him happier still, as if his heart is trying to make up for the weeks of quiet loss and heartache. Even the Infernal, the words that he doesn’t understand, sounds good, just as it always has. This Infernal sounds particularly lovely, and it takes Caleb a moment to remember where he’d heard it before.

In his office, in the sunlight, the same day that he’d had his conversation with Beau. The same day that he accepted that he would never be able to have this.

The same day that Molly accepted the same.

“Mollymauk?” he asks.

“ _Yeah_?”

“That Infernal, the phrase you just said - you never- you never told me what it means,” he says around his smile. At the other end of the connection Molly makes a small ‘oh!’ sound, and it’s the best sound that Caleb has ever heard.

Every sound that Molly makes is the best sound that Caleb has ever heard.

“ _Oh!_ ” Molly says again. “ _Oh, no, I suppose not! I didn’t- hah- I didn’t think you’d want to know, at the time._ ”

Caleb smiles. “ _Mollymauk_ ,” he says, his voice nothing but adoring and fond, and Molly laughs again.

“ _I know!”_ he says. “ _I know, I know, I was an idiot, I’m well aware of that, Caleb!_ ”

“If it is any consolation, I was an idiot too.”

“ _We were both idiots_.”

“ _Ja_ , we were. We really were.”

“ _I can tell you what it means now, though_.”

Caleb looks up at the ceiling above him. “Please do.”

“ _Alright_ ,” Molly says. “ _It means- it means ‘my love’, but it isn’t- it’s not quite that, actually. It’s not ‘my’ love, it’s-_ _ᖨᗇ, the ending, means ‘you’ or ‘your’, so it’s actually ‘your love’, you know? Like, my love belongs to you.”_

That’s- oh.

Oh.

Somehow, that wasn’t what Caleb was expecting. He knows that Molly is prone to pet names, knows that Molly is prone to endearments, but this is… it’s different. It’s _more_ , somehow.

Caleb swallows, his throat suddenly feeling tight. “I- Mollymauk?”

“ _Yeah_?”

“Would you- could you say that again?”

Even across the planes, Caleb thinks he can hear Molly’s slight smile. _“_ _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ,”_ Molly says, his words a murmur, and Caleb breathes in, his eyes fluttering shut. It sounds so good. The words had sounded good before, the first time Caleb had heard them all those weeks before, but they sound so much better now, now that he knows the meaning behind them. “ _Caleb, my darling,_ _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ.”_

Caleb shivers. He wants- he wants to hear those words again. He wants to hear them in person, wants to hear them by his ear and murmured against his skin. He wants to learn how to say them himself so that he can say them back to Mollymauk, so that he can show Mollymauk in his own language that he feels just the same way.

He wants to learn the shape of them on Molly’s lips.

_“_ _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ,”_ he murmurs to himself. The Infernal sounds clunky on his tongue, not nearly as lovely as it does when coming from Molly’s lips, but it’s a start. It’s something. And it’s enough for now, because, when Molly speaks again, Caleb can hear him smiling.

“ _Yeah,_ ” he says quietly, his voice so soft and fond that Caleb can feel it sinking into his bones like sunlight, warming him from the inside out. _“_ _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ, Caleb.”_

“Say it again?”

“ _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ,_ ” Molly says immediately. There’s no pause, no hesitation. There’s just the same warmth and the same love that has been present for this entire conversation. _“_ _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ, my love, my dearest, I- Caleb_ -”

“ _Liebling_ -”

“ _I love you_.”

Caleb sniffles. He lifts a hand, wiping the tears from his eyes, and can feel himself smiling so hard that it hurts. “I love you too,” he murmurs. “I- Mollymauk- I- _Ich liebe dich_.”

“ _ᖨᗇ_ _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ_ _ᚳ'Ѧ_ _ᙪᗄ, Caleb._ ”

“Should I assume that that means ‘I love you’?”

“ _Mmhmm_.”

Caleb trails his fingers over the surface of the crystal, feeling the gently pulsing warmth. “It sounded nice,” he says quietly. “It- your Infernal always sounds nice, Mollymauk, but that- it was- I liked hearing it. Um. A lot.”

“ _I liked hearing your Zemnian,”_ Molly replies. “ _You always sound lovely when speaking it. Or when speaking in general, really._ ”

“Oh?” Caleb asks, feeling himself colouring. “You- _ja_?”

“ _Caleb, dearest, you have a_ very _lovely voice. Let me assure you of that. It’s certainly one of my favourites that I’ve ever heard.”_

Gods, he’s going to burn up. He’s going to melt into a puddle of goo right now, just because Mollymauk Tealeaf, an actual demon, is telling him that he has a nice voice. Caleb takes a deep breath, hoping that his heart will calm down a little bit, and shuts his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he can see the crystal still glowing between his hands. “You,” he starts, swallowing. “It- you- you sound very, um, very attractive when you speak Infernal. _Very_ attractive.”

“ _Yeah_?” Molly asks, and Caleb might just be imagining it but he swears he can hear something like a purr edging Molly’s words, making them sound lower and rougher in the best possible way, as if they’ve been wrapped in velvet. “ _Is that so?_ ”

He coughs. “ _J-ja_. You- I have- all of your Infernal sounds very nice, Mollymauk. It- _ja_. You have a very nice voice. I have- I have, um, always thought that.”

“ _Is that why you kept asking me if I could teach you Infernal_?”

“I, um… not _entirely_ ,” Caleb says, and Molly laughs again, making him feel warm and shivery all over.

“ _No, no, don’t worry, I really don’t mind, love. It’s very nice to know that you think I sound nice. I’d be more than happy to teach you some more when you summon me again,_ ” Molly continues, and then pauses. “… _Caleb_?”

“… _Ja_?”

“ _You… you_ will _be able to summon me again, right? Because I- what you said earlier, about components and stuff. Does that whole ‘intent’ thing work for- for summoning too? Because I’m not going to lie, love, I’m going to be awfully upset if it turns out that we went through all of this only to discover that I can’t even see you again_ -”

“ _No_ ,” Caleb interrupts quickly, cutting Molly short. “No, I- yes, the- the components, the intent, that is- that applies to summoning too! I may- I might require some components to help channel the magic and better locate you, but they are- they could…” He can feel his mind whirling, desperately piecing together everything that he will need to do in order to summon Molly again. “I will figure it out,” he says eventually. “I promise you that, Mollymauk.”

Molly gives a short laugh. “ _I’m going to assume that you have the necessary intent for it, love.”_

“I do.” More than ever before. He wants to see Molly again, wants to see him so badly that it almost hurts. He wants to see Molly, and he wants to hold his hand, and he wants to touch him and kiss him and run his hands along Molly’s sides and feel Molly’s tail wrapping close and tight around his ankle. He wants that more badly than he thinks he’s ever wanted anything else. “I will do this,” he promises, his voice softer. “I will- I will figure out how to summon you again, I promise, okay?”

“ _Okay_ ,” Molly says. “ _Could I- when you do summon me, would it be alright if I- could I- can I kiss you, Caleb?_ ”

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb says, before Molly has really even finished speaking. “ _Ich- ja,_ yes, of course, please, Mollymauk-”

“ _I want to_ -”

“-please-”

“- _I’ve been wanting to kiss you since, Hells, since that time we went stargazing together_ -”

“- _ja, ja,_ I know, I have been wanting to kiss you since then, too-”

_“-Gods,_ Caleb.”

“Mollymauk,” Caleb replies. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, can feel the flush in his cheeks, and it’s wonderful. “I- _Liebling_ , you can kiss me whenever you want. You can- I- I have wanted to kiss you for so long, Mollymauk.”

He hears Molly laugh, the sound bright and clear and so sweet that Caleb thinks he can taste it. “ _I hope you know this_ ,” he says, his voice only wavering a little bit, “ _but as soon as you summon me, the very second I arrive, I’m going to kiss you_.”

Caleb smiles. “You say that like you think I might have a problem with it,” he says, his tone faintly teasing. “I feel, ah, I feel that I should give you the same warning, though. About, um, about kissing you.” Even now he can feel his ears reddening, can feel the flush pinkening his face, and he doesn’t care. He _doesn’t care_. How can he care, how could he possibly care that he’s blushing when he’s talking to Mollymauk about _kissing him_ , and Molly is telling him that he’s wanted to kiss him for just as long?

How can he care about anything, when very soon he will have Mollymauk Tealeaf back in his house, and back in his life, and back in his heart?

Molly gives a quiet gasp. “ _Caleb_ ,” he gasps, sounding mock-scandalised and delighted all at once. “ _Gosh, I can’t believe that I’m barely going to step foot in the material plane before you attempt to sweep me off my feet_.”

“I didn’t- I- _nein_!” Caleb protests, even as he smiles wider. “I will- I am not very strong, Mollymauk. I make no promises about sweeping you off my feet. Um. _Your_ feet.”

“ _I’ll sweep you off your feet if you want me too,_ ” Molly says. “ _As long as you promise that you’ll kiss me_.”

Caleb laughs. “Mollymauk,” he says, “I do not think I am capable of _breaking_ that promise.”

“ _Good! Then make sure that you summon me as soon as possible so that neither of us will have to wait for too long_.”

Caleb doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s already waited far, far too long for this. He has no plans on waiting any longer.

“I will figure out how to summon you,” he says. “This evening. This evening, I will summon you, _ja_?” He doesn’t know why he’s promising this evening. He doesn’t even know if he can do this, not really. He doesn’t know if he has the skill, or the capability, or the knowledge to be able to pull a demon – and not just any demon, but one demon in particular – through from their plane to his with no defined components, or sigils, or anything.

But he has to.

He’s going to.

He’s going to summon Molly, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been more sure about anything in his life.

“This evening,” he says again, and every word is a promise. “This evening, Mollymauk Tealeaf, I will see you again.”

\---

What does it take to summon a demon? It takes magic, of course, and runes, and sigils, and assorted ingredients. It takes a spellcasting focus, and knowledge, and the ability to open small tears between planes to draw demons through. It takes skill.

For Caleb Widogast, staring determinedly at the tarpaulin spread out on his dining room floor, it takes understanding.

He is summoning Mollymauk Tealeaf, and he is going entirely off-book. There is no guide for this. There is no knowledge that he has on how to summon Molly. The first time had been a fluke, and he has no record of Molly in his witch-tome or in any other book in his library. He doesn’t have Molly’s sigils. He doesn’t have Molly’s glyphs. He doesn’t have Molly’s ingredients. He has a spellcasting focus, yes, and he has his magic, but he doesn’t have what is required. He doesn’t have what is necessary.

In his head, he rephrases the question.

What does it take to summon a demon, when you are a witch?

What does it take to summon a demon who you have feelings for? What does it take to summon a demon who you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, feels for you just as strongly? What does it take to summon a demon who is unrecorded, and unknown, and who doesn’t know his very own summoning ingredients?

Well, that’s simple.

It takes intent.

And, right now, Caleb has that in spades.

What does it take to summon Mollymauk Tealeaf?

\---

_Magpie feathers_.

They’re an obvious choice, Caleb feels. Molly has always been bright, loud and colourful and so flamboyant that even his human glamour, free of the purple skin and red eyes that Caleb has grown so very fond of, manages to attract attention wherever they go. He likes jewellery, and he likes shiny things, and though it’s undeniable that Nott is the true magpie of the flat, with her hoards of buttons and sequins and tiny, sparkling beads, Molly comes in a close second. Some of the first makeup that he’d bought in the material plane had been metallic gold eyeliner – which he’d _insisted_ was an important item in tiefling culture, giggling the whole time – and Caleb has only ever seen him without jewellery and make-up immediately after a shower or before he gets dressed in the mornings. He’s always colourful, and he’s always sparkling, and he seems to draw the very light itself, making him glitter even on overcast days. He’s the most flamboyant, bright, visually noisy individual that Caleb has ever met, and he loves him for it.

He takes the bundle of magpie feathers from their drawer, ties them together with a length of sparkling, golden yarn, and then carries them through to the dining room. It doesn’t take long for him to open up the tarpaulin and chalk out a standard summoning circle base on it, and once that’s done, he carefully places the magpie feathers atop it. They shine in the sunlight, glimmering in indigo and kingfisher-blue.

Caleb looks at the circle, feels his magic racing beneath his skin, and smiles.

\---

_Silver wire._

Specifically, a length of silver wire strung with charms in the shape of the moon and the sun, assembled with Nott’s help. Caleb remembers how, one afternoon, Molly had pieced together a set of horn caps with Nott’s assistance, hanging a pair of charms from them that had jingled faintly with every turn of his head. He’d been absolutely delighted with the result, showing them off to Caleb and Beau and generally being almost obnoxiously happy with them, or what Caleb _would_ have considered to be obnoxiously happy if he wasn’t so god damn smitten. To him, Molly had seemed near-incandescent with delight, flopping down next to him on the couch and preening like the peacock inked onto his skin as he’d shown the charms off to Caleb. Caleb hadn’t been able to stop himself from reaching out, taking the small moon charm between thumb and forefinger.

“ _Do you like it?_ ” Molly had asked, his voice quiet enough to only be heard by the two of them.

Caleb had smiled, his eyes darting from Molly’s eyes to the charm and then back again. “ _Ja_ ,” he had replied honestly. “ _It- ja, it suits you, Mollymauk. It really does_.”

He remembers the smile that had crossed Molly’s face, remembers the way their thighs had bumped together on the couch. He remembers Molly’s hand settling on his knee, and the colour of the flower tattoos poking out from the collar of his shirt, and he remembers wanting to lean in and press a fleeting kiss to his lips.

He can do that, now. As soon as he summons Molly, as soon as Molly is here, he can walk up to him, and take his hand, and kiss him just how he’s wanted to for so, so long.

The wire is perfect. Caleb adds it to the circle.

\---

_Grave dirt_.

Caleb cannot explain why he feels that this is necessary. It’s not a summoning component that he tends to use- well, _ever_ , really, and while he has seen it listed on a number of component lists for other, somewhat more ominous demons, he’s never had cause to use it. He’s always been able to find alternatives, or has been able to by-pass it, or he just hasn’t needed to summon that particular demon in the first place. He’s not even sure, exactly, of what effects it may have, or if it’s necessary at all. He has no idea which demon this particular combination of components could actually summon.

But, he reminds himself, that’s not the point of this. The components aren’t the point of this, not really. They’re a guide, an aid – they’re there to assist him in channelling his magic, but they’re not there to direct it. _Nothing_ is there to direct it. There are no sigils, not this time. There are no glyphs beyond the basic ones required to create a simple summoning circle.

Just like when he was contacting Molly, all there is this time is Caleb, and his magic, and his intent.

If that isn’t enough to summon Molly, he doesn’t know what is.

And some part of him feels that the grave dirt is right, and feels that it is necessary, and so, after laying the silver wire and magpie feathers out in the dining room, he takes a small bowl, goes out to the garden, and scoops up a small amount of dirt from beneath the oak tree. After all, he reasons, all dirt counts as grave dirt when you really think about it. No matter where you go, there will always be bones buried somewhere beneath you. As far as he’s concerned, that’s just common sense.

Caleb takes the soil, moves through to the dining room, and adds it to the circle. He breathes in, letting the air gather in his lungs as he looks over the tarpaulin. _Magpie feathers. Silver wire. Grave dirt_. That should do it. It just needs one more thing.

He moves through the kitchen, making his way over to the pantry of holding. It’s the work of a moment for him to withdraw a small vial of steak blood from the cupboard, the glass coming to rest smooth and cool against his palm, and once he has it he returns to the circle, adding it to the collected components.

It’s the strangest, emptiest summoning circle he has ever created, and it’s going to work.

He’s going to make it work.

Caleb draws in a deep breath. “Okay,” he mutters to himself, plucking at the hem of his shirt. At Nott and Beau’s suggestion he’d changed out of his soft, comfortable flannel and into a black henley instead, trading his age-worn jeans for a darker, better fitting pair. It’s a small thing, and he knows that Molly likely won’t care at all, but he wants to look good. When he summons Molly, when he sees him again, he wants to look _good_. He wants to look his best, and he wants to look attractive, and he’s still not sure if he should have shaved or not, but it’s too late to do anything about that now. Beau and Nott had left an hour or so ago, with Nott giving him a pat on the knee and Beau giving him a look that had very strongly implied what she thought that he and Molly were going to get up to, and now it’s just him in the house, standing before the chalked tarpaulin.

“Okay,” he says again. He can feel his magic itching beneath his skin, as impatient as he is to see Mollymauk again. Everything is in place. Everything is as ready as it will ever be. He’s as prepared as he can possibly be, and Molly knows that he is going to be summoned, and Molly knows that Caleb loves him, and he loves Caleb back.

All Caleb has to do is summon him.

He can feel himself starting to smile. His magic pushes at his palms, gathering gold just above the surface of his skin, and the more he thinks about Molly, the more his magic grows, rising with his joy and delight because Molly loves him too, and Molly _knows_ , and soon, so, so soon, Caleb will be able to see him again, and hold his hand, and kiss him.

Soon, he will be able to kiss Mollymauk Tealeaf, and that thought is all the prompting that he needs to step up to the circle, push his sleeves up to the elbow, and focus his magic.

_Intent_ , he thinks to himself, and then he starts to open the circle.

All he has to do now is think of Molly. All he has to do now is hold Molly in his mind, and hold that desire to see him again, and touch him, and take his hand and press kisses to his lips at the very forefront of his thoughts. Caleb shuts his eyes, not caring to watch as his magic sinks in alongside the circle components. He doesn’t need to see that. He trusts his magic, trusts that this aspect of it will do exactly what it needs to do. He knows that his magic is powerful enough to open a connection to the Nine Hells – it doing that on its own had been exactly what had brought Molly here to begin with. His magic has already summoned Molly once. He knows he can do it again.

There is nothing that he needs to do now but think of Molly, and he’s been doing that for the last several weeks.

“Mollymauk,” Caleb murmurs to himself, and the word tastes golden on his tongue. “Mollymauk…” He remembers Molly’s arrival. He remembers the shock and surprise at seeing him for the first time. He remembers the offered tea, and the frantic phone call with Jester, and the weekend spent trying desperately to send him home. He remembers-

_Twine between his fingers, rough and coarse and woven through with magic. Molly holding out his arm as best he can within the confines of the hula-hoop, letting Caleb tie the bracelet shut. Molly’s smile, his smirk, the glint of the light off his teeth and the sound of his voice in the quiet of the dining room. Caleb’s fingers brushing against Molly’s skin, feeling the warmth of it. The success of the spell. The infectious nature of Molly’s joy_.

How long ago had that been? Months? Caleb doesn’t know, not easily. It feels like a lifetime ago, like a different life altogether, when Molly had been little more than a curious annoyance with a terrible taste in clothing and a tendency to bring him coffee when he was summoning Fjord’s patron. Caleb is aware that weeks must have passed between Molly’s summoning and the night that he found him crying in his room, lonely and homesick, but the time that passed doesn’t matter. What matters, what really matters, is-

_Molly’s voice, soft and quiet in the darkness of his bedroom. His eyes, gorgeous, shining like embers, no longer just one pair but three and oh, how beautiful they are. Tears on Molly’s cheeks. Talk of friends, of family, of solitude and home and the distraction of the stars. Moonlight. Starlight. Molly’s hand in his own, his flannel on Molly’s shoulders, Infernal rolling off his tongue. The longing to touch, to kiss. The realisation. Adoration and affection and ceaseless, endless fondness, all bundled up into one emotion._

Even now, Caleb doesn’t know how he hadn’t realised his own feelings sooner. They’d been so obvious, _so obvious_ , for days, possibly even for weeks, and yet it had only been then that he’d actually realised how much Molly’s happiness meant to him, how much _Molly_ meant to him. Hells, but how had he missed _Molly’s_ feelings too, with all that had happened? How had he seen, and felt, and experienced Molly’s care and kindness in the wake of Trent, in the wake of everything that he had told him, curled up against his chest and feeling so, so safe in his arms, and still believed that Molly didn’t feel anything in return? He thinks back to their zoo visit as his magic continues to swell and grow, remembering the simple delight and pain of having Molly crammed against his side in the car, of talking to Molly beneath the soft blue lights of the aquarium. He thinks of his idea, his plan that had started to form when Molly had first mentioned Yasha. He thinks of summoning Yasha, of Molly’s joy upon seeing her, his delight so bright and warm that Caleb had felt it settling in his chest. He thinks of Molly’s head in his lap, and his hand in his hair, and he thinks of-

_Molly’s lips, pressing warm and soft to his cheek, his hands on Caleb’s shoulders. Beau, seeing. Beau, realising. Beau taking Caleb upstairs and talking to him, asking him what was going on and being as careful and as understanding as she could possibly be. Sharing his feelings, his wants, his wishes, his understanding that this could never be. Taking his heart, and seeing the love held within it for the first time, and then quietly putting it back. Seeing Molly in his office later._ _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ. Researching. Discovering._

_Saying goodbye_.

Distantly, Caleb thinks he can feel tears running down his cheeks, but he doesn’t brush them away. He can still feel the magic streaming from his body, flicking back and forth between his memories and the chalked sigils, but it’s a small thing, minor. He doesn’t think about it. He _can’t_ think about it, not now. Not when his mind is so full of-

_Molly. Molly, and loss, and heartbreak, and a hollow numbness that he can feel in his bones because Gods, but he loves Molly, he loves Molly so much and yet he cannot tell him, he can never tell him, he can never tell him because Molly is not here. The realisation, so late and so wonderful and so, so painful. Incense and spice. The crystal between his palms. Contacting Molly, and hearing Molly’s voice again, and telling Molly that he loves him._

_Hearing Molly say it back._

He’s going to do this, he’s sure of it. He has his intent. He has what components he feels are necessary. He has his magic, and his ability, and he knows what he’s doing. He knows who he’s summoning.

_Mollymauk Tealeaf_ , Caleb says to himself, the name wrapped close and tight with months’ worth of memories, and then he sinks his magic into the boundary between the planes, thinks of red eyes and twisting horns and the ceaseless, endless love in his heart, and tugs.

He sees the bright flash of gold through his shut eyelids, tastes smoke and ozone on the back of his tongue, and knows that something, _someone,_ was summoned.

He just doesn’t know who.

For a moment he stands there, his fingers curled and his eyes shut, feeling the magic dissipate. He almost doesn’t want to open his eyes, too afraid off seeing something other than purple skin, and twisting tattoos, and ruby-red eyes that could hold universes, but he must. He knows that he must.

Caleb breathes in, breathes out, and opens his eyes.

Standing before him is a purple tiefling demon, dressed in a deep v-neck white shirt and a pair of almost impossibly tight dark red trousers. Six eyes adorn the demon’s face, each one lined with gold and shining red in the late afternoon sunlight, and flickering around his feet Caleb can see a twisting, charm-adorned tail, split in two a foot or so from the tip. He can see a peacock tattoo, and twisting flowers made of ink, and, when the tiefling smiles, he feels his heart start beating again.

_Molly_.

It’s quite possible that he’s still crying, and he really doesn’t care. Caleb steps forwards, never once looking away from Molly’s face. _Molly_ , he thinks to himself. It’s the only word in his head. _Molly, Molly, Mollymauk_.

_I love you._

He reaches out unthinkingly, settling one hand on Molly’s hip as the other comes to rest on his face. Molly’s skin is warm beneath his palm, soft and smooth and patterned with the familiar ink of the peacock, and his eyes are so bright that, even in the afternoon sun, they look to be glowing. Caleb can see tears beaded along Molly’s lashes, shining like crystals, and he knows that there are tears in his own eyes, too.

“Molly,” he breathes softly. He can feel Molly’s hands settling on his waist, can feel Molly’s tail wrapping close and tight around his ankle like it never wants to let go, and it’s the best thing that he’s ever felt. “I- _Mollymauk_.”

“Hey,” Molly says quietly. He’s not grinning but he’s smiling, the same tiny, soft little smile that he’s only ever given to Caleb. His hands are comfortable against Caleb’s waist, so certain and familiar that Caleb feels like they’ve rested there a hundred, a thousand times before. _Everything_ about this feels familiar, for all that it’s only ever been a wish for so, so long. It feels _right_. It feels right to have Molly’s hands on his waist. It feels right to have Molly’s tail coiled around his ankle. It feels right to lean in, and press their foreheads together, and, just for a second, bask in this moment, in this shared closeness. “Hey,” Molly murmurs again and Caleb shuts his eyes, moving in a little closer. Molly’s voice is soft and beautiful and it’s as lightly accented as ever, touched by the Hells and so warm that it feels like an embrace. It sounds like smoke spun through honey.

Caleb could listen to it forever.

For a second, just for a second, he stays like that, stretching up a little so that he can have this contact. Up until now he’d never quite realised how Molly was just a little bit taller than him, but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all. This, like everything else about this entire situation, feels right. It feels like it’s always been like this, and like this was always meant to be.

“Mollymauk,” he murmurs again. He opens his eyes, looking up into all six of Molly’s perfect, ruby-red ones. He remembers starlight, and universes, and the soft sound of Molly’s voice in the quiet of the night, with the trees murmuring their whispered secrets out into the world. He remembers Molly’s hand in his own, and Infernal on his lips, and the longing to hold, and to touch, and to kiss.

Caleb looks a little lower down, and lets his gaze come to rest on Molly’s lips.

He can have this, now. He can want this. He knows, knows beyond any shadow of a doubt, that Molly wants this too. There is no doubt in his mind, not anymore. There is no questioning. There is nothing but himself and Mollymauk, soaked in sunlight and wrapped up in wants and wishes that have been held back for too long.

Slowly, carefully, Caleb tilts his head, starting to lean in. He watches as Molly’s eyes flicker down, landing on his lips, and feels Molly’s hands flex around his waist. “Caleb,” Molly murmurs and Caleb pauses, just for long enough to check that Molly really, truly, honestly wants this too. Molly’s tongues dart out, wetting his lips, and then, at his waist, Caleb feels Molly giving the faintest of tugs. “Caleb,” Molly murmurs again, and his voice is starlight. “ _Please_.”

Caleb cannot possibly resist that.

He tilts his head a little more, leans in just a little further, and finally, _finally_ , presses his lips to Molly’s.

Around him, everything settles. In his head, everything grows quiet. There is nothing to worry about, nothing to stress about. There is nothing now but himself, and Molly, and Molly’s lips against his own, soft and warm and wonderful.

And, most wonderful of all, Molly is kissing him back.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stunning art in this chapter was done by the ever-lovely [Heidi](https://twitter.com/heidzdraws)!
> 
> Please note that the next chapter to go up will be a **smut chapter**. It is not plot-relevant and you can skip it without missing anything important. Also, so that people who want to skip it don’t have to wait two weeks for chapter 21, chapters 20 and 21 will be going up on consecutive days.
> 
> _Chapter 20_ will be posted on May 20th.  
>  _Chapter 21_ will be posted on May 21st.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that the following chapter is a **smut chapter**. It is not plot-relevant and you can skip it without missing anything important. Please also be aware that Caleb is a trans man in this fic and I use traditionally feminine/feminine-coded words to describe his genitals.
> 
> The next chapter will go up on May 21st, and the art in this chapter was done by [Heidi](https://twitter.com/heidzdraws)!

_Mollymauk_.

There is no other thought in Caleb’s head as he kisses Molly. There are no thoughts of loss, or of hope, or of anything like that. There are no thoughts of magic, or of waiting, or of the old, stinging ache in his chest that doesn’t exist anymore. All there is, is Molly beneath his hands, Molly against his lips, Molly warm and gentle and _real_ , his tail wrapped close around Caleb’s ankle as if it had never left. Molly’s body is warm against his front, pressing heat through the thin layer of his shirt and so wonderful and comforting that he feels like sunlight made tangible, made touchable and incandescent and perfect. Everything about this is perfect. Molly is perfect, and the touch of his tail is perfect, and his clever hands and clever tongues are so, so perfect that Caleb doesn’t know how he lived without them.

Kissing Molly is perfect, and Caleb never, ever wants to stop.

Caleb doesn’t know how long he kisses Molly for. Every time he goes to move away, to breathe, Molly follows after him, making small noises of loss and longing that Caleb is helpless to resist, and every time Molly goes to breathe Caleb does much the same. He doesn’t want to be parted from Molly. Not now, and not ever again, and every moment without Molly’s lips pressed against his own is a moment that Caleb doesn’t want to experience. There are no words for them to say. There is no space for speaking between the endless, endless kisses, and so Caleb tries to say through the touch of his hands and the careful stroke of his tongue what he cannot say with words. He tries to tell Molly how much he missed him, how much he adores him, how much he loves him. He tries to take the joy in his heart that he’d felt upon hearing Molly’s voice again and show it to him in the caress of his hand over Molly’s side. He tries to take the delight and warmth and relief that he’d felt upon seeing Molly again and show it to him in the soft, slick slide of their lips.

He doesn’t know if he succeeds.

He doesn’t care.

Now, at least, he knows they will have the time to talk later.

_Later_. Later, after countless kisses. Later, after endless touches. Later, when Caleb finally feels that he can let go of Molly without wondering if he might vanish. He knows it’s a stupid thought, knows that he was the one to banish Molly in the first place, but it’s a thought that he has all the same. He doesn’t dwell on it, though. Now isn’t the time for that. Now, in this moment, there is only him, and Mollymauk, and as many kisses as he wishes to receive.

It’s only when he finally, finally, _finally_ feels like he truly needs to take a breath (because he’s not tired of kissing Molly, he doesn’t think he could _ever_ be tired of kissing Molly) that he shifts a little, pressing a scattering of kisses to Molly’s jaw and cheek in apology before breathing out a sigh and resting his forehead against Mollymauk’s. He feels Molly’s hands grow still against his waist, feels his own hands settling, and, just for a moment, he lets himself breathe.

Incense and spice in his lungs. Incense and spice on the back of his throat. Incense and spice on his tongue, on his lips, on his clothing.

_Mollymauk_ , he thinks again, and then he opens his eyes, and sees six red eyes staring right back at him.

Caleb smiles. “ _Hallo_ ,” he says quietly, just a little bit breathless, and Molly’s soft, half-gasped laugh feels like all the magic in the world.

“Hey,” Molly says, his voice just as quiet and gentle. Caleb gives a quiet hum, feeling his smile grow, and then, before he can even fully reason why, he stretches up and presses another fleeting kiss to Molly’s lips. It feels so easy, so simple, so _right_. There’s no concern in his mind anymore, no lingering doubt or uncertainty about Molly’s feelings. He can have this, and want this, and it’s alright; it’s more than alright, because Molly wants it too.

Molly makes a small, surprised sound at the kiss, and Caleb feels himself grow warm all over. He did that. He was the one to make Molly sound that quietly startled and happy, just by stretching up to kiss him. He does it again, just because he can, and this time he feels Molly relax a little, softening under his lips to quickly kiss him back. When he leans back again, feeling laughter dancing around the corners of his mouth, it’s to see Molly’s eyes resting on his lips, his forked tongues darting out to lick over his lower lip.

“Hey,” Molly murmurs again, more to himself this time. “That was- wow, you really know how to make a demon feel welcome, don’t you?”

Caleb’s smile shifts into a smirk. “I take it this was better than tea?”

“Much better than tea,” Molly agrees immediately. “Don’t get me wrong, love, I adore your tea, but this- it’s- yeah…” He trails off, still smiling, and gives a small shrug. “It’s much more _engaging_ than tea, I supposed I’d say. I know I’m certainly having a marvellous time, and it seems that you are too.”

There’s no question in his statement, but Caleb can feel the faint uncertainty in Molly’s words all the same. _As if it could be anything else,_ he thinks to himself, and presses a kiss to the corner of Molly’s mouth. “Mollymauk,” he says, “ _Liebling_. I am having a very wonderful time. This is- _ja_ , this is very, very nice. I certainly would not say no if you wanted to do more of… more of this.” _More of everything_.

“Oh?” Molly asks, sounded delighted. He taps his fingers against Caleb’s waist, smiling, but something about the action makes Caleb pause. During their time together he’s become very familiar with the sight of Molly’s hands – he knows the snake head tattoos across the back of one of them, knows the shape of his slender fingers, knows the graceful, manicured points of his nails, and he feels like he should know what they feel like. These nails don’t feel sharp. They feel shorter.

Caleb glances down. “Mollymauk, did- did you…?”

Molly frowns for a moment, confused. “Did I _what_?” he asks, and then he follows Caleb gaze down to his hands, and to his now neatly clipped nails. Caleb watches as Molly’s cheeks darken, looking at his clipped-short nails, and knows that he must look similar. He can feel the heat in his face, darkening his cheeks and turning the tips of his ears red. He can feel the heat in his core, too. It’s very, very hard not to look at Molly’s fingers, long and fine and so wonderfully dextrous, and think about where else they might be.

He swallows. “Did you… Mollymauk, did you cut your nails?” He can’t keep the hoarseness, the roughness, the sudden _want_ out of his voice. He watches Molly’s fingers flex against his waist, feels them coming back to settle warm above his shirt, and suddenly that single layer of separation is far, far too much.

Molly smiles at him, the expression halfway to a smirk. “Maybe,” he says. “I may- I might have heard you say that you were summoning me, and that you wanted to kiss me, and got just a little bit hopeful.” For a moment, his smirk softens. “If that’s okay, of course. No pressure at all, just thought that it would be best to lay everything out after how much time we spent being idiots and not communicating-”

And then he stops talking, because Caleb is kissing him.

Caleb kisses him hungrily, desperately. He tilts his head, leans back to catch his breath, and then moves back in to press kiss after kiss to Molly’s mouth, his hands fluttering along his sides until they settle on his waist, holding tight in the most perfect way. Caleb’s hands are so warm. Everything about Caleb is so, so warm, even against Molly’s Hells-hot skin; it feels like burning, like the touch of sunlight, like the comforting warmth of a bath after a long day, and it’s _perfect_.

Molly hears himself whining into the kiss, and doesn’t even try to hold the sound back. Caleb kisses him like he’s drowning, like he’s starving for the touch of Molly’s lips and the hot, slick slide of their tongues; he’s relentless and soft and careful all at once, slowing down and giving Molly enough space to reciprocate, to show his matching want, before kissing him with all the pent-up energy of the last few months. Molly’s pretty certain that that must be what he’s feeling – after all, he feels it too.

He groans softly in the back of his throat, his hands tightening on Caleb’s waist, and feels his tail wrapping even tighter around Caleb’s calf, the twin tips stroking back and forth in time to the touching of their tongues and the slide of their lips. It’s all so much, _so much_ , and it’s so much better than he ever imagined. Gods, how many times had he imagined this? Countless, undeniably. Three weeks was an awfully, awfully long time to be without Caleb, and between all the moping and pining he’d spent countless moments imagining what it would have been like if he’d been brave enough, and bold enough, and had just kissed Caleb like he’d wanted to for so long.

He doesn’t have to imagine anymore. Caleb’s lips are warm against his own, his tongue teasing against Molly’s forked ones, and everything about it is so, so much better than any half-formed fantasy he had dreamed up. In his fantasies, he’d never stopped to consider how Caleb would be stretching up, just a little, in order to kiss him. In his fantasies, he’d never thought about Caleb’s hands on his waist, tugging him in, tugging him closer. In his fantasies, he’d never given thought to how it would feel to hear Caleb gasp and groan against his mouth, the sound alone more than enough to make him shiver and flush hot all over.

And then Caleb’s hands slip beneath his shirt, pressing flat to his skin, and he hears himself give a low, broken moan.

Fuck. _Fuck_. He’d- fuck, but how had he forgotten about this? How had he possibly forgotten about Caleb’s magic, and how had he forgotten that now, with no bracelet to act as a barrier between them, he’d be able to feel it with nothing in the way? It brushes over his skin in waves, sinking warmth and heat everywhere it touches and leaving a trail of _want_ in its wake. It feels like sunlight and starlight and power, rich and strong and entirely effortless, and the sudden awareness of the true extent of Caleb’s abilities, of the true extent of his skill, makes Molly give a soft, needy cry against Caleb’s mouth.

“I-” he manages to gasp, feeling himself shiver as the magic sweeps further still. He can feel it chasing down his arms, slipping along his legs and over his half-hard cock, and running the length of his tail from base to tips, making it twitch and flex around Caleb’s calf. It feels like- it feels like- Gods and devils, but he doesn’t have the words. He doesn’t have the words to describe the absolute safety and warmth and _perfection_ that is the feeling of Caleb’s magic against his skin, wrapping him up and pulsing so hot and so bright that Molly feels that, were he to open his eyes, the entire world would be glowing gold. He’s seen Caleb’s magic before, of course, has seen it in the sigils that ring the house and has seen it shining gold in Caleb’s eyes whenever he gently bends the world to his will, but this is so, so different. This is all of Caleb’s power, and all of Caleb’s strength, and it’s holding Molly as if in adoration.

“ _Gods_ , Caleb, your magic,” he manages to gasp, only to groan again when Caleb stretches up to nip at his jaw, his scruff scratching over Molly’s skin and making him feel like he’s burning. His tail shifts higher, wrapping and stroking around Caleb’s thigh, and Caleb hisses quietly, nipping at Molly’s jaw again before brushing the sting away with a kiss. After the soft-sharp bite of his teeth and the drag of his scruff, the kiss is surprisingly gentle, soothing and grounding in an unexpected way, and it gives Molly just enough space to speak. “I- your magic- _fuck_ , Caleb!”

“I know I am magic,” Caleb murmurs, the words pressed to Molly’s throat, and Molly gives a laugh that quickly dissolves into a moan when Caleb starts to bite at the skin there, sucking a mark in amongst the twisting feathers of the peacock. Molly can already imagine how it’ll look, dark and sullen amongst the bright teals and blues and greens, and he feels his cock throb just from the thought of it. He wants to be marked. He wants Caleb to mark him. He wants Caleb to touch him, and to kiss him, and to mark him so thoroughly that even when he returns to the Hells again he’ll be able to feel the evidence of Caleb’s hands and lips against him.

“N-no,” he manages to say. “I- I mean- _ah_ , fuck _, Caleb_ \- I meant that I can- you- I can _feel_ your magic, love.”

“Mm?” Caleb hums. He kisses the mark he had just left, and Molly thinks that he can feel him smiling against his skin. Certainly, he thinks he can feel Caleb’s quiet smugness in his magic – it seems to purr around him, sending warmth through his veins and making his cock throb again. There’s nothing around him that isn’t _Caleb_ anymore. His entire world has narrowed, focused only to Caleb’s lips against his throat, and Caleb’s hands on his waist, and Caleb’s magic caressing his skin, stripping him bare and leaving him hard and wanting and desperate. Caleb speaks again, and just the sound of his voice is enough to make Molly shiver. “Is that so, _Liebling_?”

“I- uh-huh- _ah!-_ ”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, Caleb, I- _f-fuck-_ yeah, it’s- _please_ -”

Caleb hums again. He lifts his head, smiling up at Molly with just a hint of a smirk, like he can see how quickly and easily he’s reducing Molly to a needy, whiny mess, and is loving it. “Please _what_?”

There’s only one thought in Molly’s mind. “ _Kiss me_ ,” he manages to say, and Caleb, Gods bless him, does.

He surges up, his lips meeting Molly’s in a messy, uncontrolled kiss, and it’s sloppy and bruising and so fucking hot that Molly moans into it, hands scrabbling desperately at Caleb’s sides. He needs to touch, needs to feel him, needs to ground himself so that he doesn’t just up and fucking implode from the rough tangle of Caleb’s tongue around his own.

“Caleb,” Molly gasps, his words a whisper lost to Caleb’s mouth. He kisses him again, hot and deep, and tries not to whimper when Caleb nips at his jaw, at his lips, his mouth insistent and demanding and _perfect_. Beneath his hands he can feel the soft expanse of Caleb’s stomach, can feel the coarse perfection of the hair that dusts his torso, and it’s so, so hard to stop himself from groaning just from the feeling of it beneath his fingertips. He can’t stop touching. He doesn’t think he will ever be able to stop touching. His tail coils tighter around Caleb’s waist, drawing him closer, but for as much as Molly has both his arms and tail wrapped around Caleb, he feels like it’s not enough. He feels weak, made tiny and puny by Caleb’s touch, and he loves it. He _adores_ it. Caleb tugs on his hips, insistent, his hands already trailing along the waistband of Molly’s trousers, and it’s fast and hot and rough and it’s so, so perfect.

“ _Caleb_ ,” Molly says again, his words closer to a moan this time, and Caleb gasps against his mouth, his hands tightening on Molly’s waist.

“Mollymauk,” he murmurs, and for a moment Molly has to remind himself to breathe. He’s heard Caleb say his name before, of course, but never like this, drowned in Caleb’s accent and so hot and intense that Molly thinks he can _feel_ it. “Mollymauk, mm, _Liebling_.”

He can’t reply to that with words – he just groans again, feeling Caleb’s voice going straight to his cock. His hand flutters over the hem of Caleb’s shirt, toying with the soft fabric but not yet moving it. Not without Caleb’s permission. He wants to push it up, though. He wants to touch, want to finally feel the hair that’s been driving him wild since he arrived on this plane for the first time, and after a few moments of feeble fidgeting he feels Caleb smiling against him. In a moment of boldness, he slips his fingers under Caleb’s shirt, presses them to the soft skin of his stomach and waist, and keens into the kiss.

Against him, Caleb gasps. “ _Yes_ ,” he hisses, pressing another burning kiss to Molly’s lips that leaves him feeling weak in the knees. “Yes, Mollymauk, I- _mmph_.”

“Is this- is this alright, _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ_?” Molly manages to ask around kisses. “I- can I-” He doesn’t know what’s okay. He doesn’t know what’s allowed. Normally when he sleeps with someone, he’s able to ask ahead of time what they want, and what they like, and what he’s not allowed to do and where he’s not allowed to touch, but he hasn’t had the chance to do that yet. He knows that he _could_ , knows that he could break the kiss and ask Caleb exactly what he wants, but he doesn’t want to stop this. He doesn’t want to stop kissing Caleb, stop touching Caleb.

He just doesn’t want to do anything that Caleb doesn’t like, and so he waits with his hands on Caleb’s waist, pressed against soft, gloriously smooth skin, and tries not to whine when he shifts his fingers and feels rough, coarse hair pressing against them.

“Mollymauk,” Caleb says, the word sounding like it’s caught halfway between fondness and exasperation and Molly shivers again, trembling beneath Caleb’s touch. “You may touch me anywhere you want, _Liebling_ , okay? Anywhere at all.” He leans his head back, catching the look in Molly’s eye, and as he watches further he sees the flicker of Molly’s gaze along the length of his body, catching how it lingers between his legs for just a moment too long, and feels his smile start to shift towards a smirk. “Anywhere,” he says again, hearing his own accent embracing the word and turning it just a little warmer, and, beneath his hands, he feels Molly shiver. “I want you to.”

That seems to be what does it. Molly whines again as he leans forwards, bowing his head for a kiss that Caleb gladly gives, and when he opens his mouth in invitation Caleb doesn’t hesitate to kiss him deeper, kiss him harder, pushing up against him and making him gasp. It’s perhaps the best sound he’s ever heard.

“Caleb,” he hears Molly gasping, the word almost lost to the slide of lips and tongues. “I- _please_.” He feels Molly’s hands on his hip, on his waist, flexing and twitching, and when he nips at Molly’s bottom lip Molly _whines_ , the sound sending heat straight between Caleb’s legs. He gives a soft groan, tugging Molly closer as he starts to step back towards the couch that Beau had moved through to the dining room a few days ago, and it’s only when he pulls Molly’s hips flush against his own that he feels Molly’s cock, still trapped by the confines of his sinfully tight trousers, nudge against his thigh, and feels himself grow wetter still.

_Gods_. He- Gods, _fuck_. He wants- he wants _so much_. He wants to keep kissing Molly, and hearing Molly keep making those beautiful, delicious little sounds against his mouth, and he wants to touch Molly, and he wants Molly to touch him. He wants to feel Molly’s hands against his skin, against his waist. He wants to feel them slipping down past the waistband of his jeans, wants to feel them warm beneath the fabric of his briefs. He wants those clever fingers, that clever touch, sliding along his cunt, feeling the evidence of what Molly has done to him, and then he wants them to _touch him_. He feels his thighs clench together as he thinks that, just imagining Molly’s touch where he so badly wants it, and knows that there must already be a damp spot on his boxers.

And he wants more than just that, he thinks, feeling as both of Molly’s tongues twist with his own. Oh, he wants so much more than just that. He wants everything that Molly is willing to give, and he wants to make Molly moan, and he wants to make Molly come, and he wants to hold him and kiss him and never, ever let him go again. He feels Molly’s hands running over his stomach, across the expanse of his chest, and wishes, _wishes_ that they would move lower. Eventually they start to, as Molly begins trailing them down his sides, but it’s still not quite where he wants them, and when Molly slips his fingertips beneath the waistband of Caleb’s jeans, pressing hot and perfect and so, so close, and then doesn’t move any further, Caleb thinks that he could scream.

He understands, though. He understands Molly’s hesitation. This is a lot, and it’s fast, and they both want it – that much is painfully apparent – but nothing has been discussed, yet. Caleb understands that, given the nature of his transition, Molly might be a bit more hesitant about doing what he really wants to do.

But that’s alright. Caleb will just take matters into his own hands.

He takes Molly’s hand in his own, still pressing kisses to the curve of his jaw, and guides it down to the waistband of his jeans. “Go on,” he murmurs. He lets go of Molly’s hand, snapping his fingers to unbuckle his belt and undo his fly with a burst of magic, and then takes it again, pressing it just above where he so badly wants Molly to touch. “Go on, _Liebling._ You want to touch me, _ja_?”

He feels Molly nodding against him, hears his desperate, gasping breaths, and smiles. “I- yeah, yeah, yes, _please_ , Caleb, I-”

Caleb tugs Molly’s hand lower, slipping their joined hands beneath the soft fabric of his boxers. He can feel himself growing slicker, can feel Molly’s hand flexing beneath his own, and though it’s so, so tempting to guide Molly’s hand all the way to his cunt, and to take his pleasure from it, he doesn’t. He wants Molly to do this. He wants Molly to _want_ this.

And so he lets go, and leaves Molly’s hand curled gently over his mound, and presses another kiss to his jaw. “Go on,” he murmurs again. “You can touch me, Mollymauk. I want to feel your fingers in me.”

Molly whines. “ _Caleb_ ,” he moans. He flexes his fingers, making Caleb hiss, but doesn’t move them yet. It’s as if he’s waiting for something. It’s as if he’s waiting for an order.

Caleb is so, so tired of waiting.

“ _Mollymauk_ ,” he says. Molly looks down at him, his eyes glowing, and Caleb feels that if Molly had pupils then they would be blown wide. He can see the flush painting Molly’s face, can see the way his chest is heaving just from this, just from making out, and he loves it. He adores it. “Mollymauk,” he says again, softer. Molly’s gaze darts to his lips, following his tongue as he quickly licks over them. “If you do not touch me,” he continues, his voice quiet and as level as he can make it with Molly’s tail curled around his thigh and Molly’s hand mere inches from his cunt, “then I will do it myself.”

There’s a pause, just for a second, and then Molly finally, _finally_ , slips his hand a few inches lower, trails two fingers through the slick gathered between Caleb’s legs, and presses the tip of one finger to Caleb’s entrance. It’s warm, the touch just heavy enough to be felt while still being light enough to be teasing, and Caleb has to bite his tongue to stop from whining. He leans in instead, nipping at Molly’s jaw, and tightens his hands around Molly’s waist.

“ _Touch me_ , Mollymauk,” he hisses quietly. He shifts his hips, rolling down onto the touch of Molly’s finger as best he can while still standing, and ducks his head to scrape his teeth over the blossoming hickey left amongst the twining feathers of the peacock. “I will not break, you know. You can- _a-ah_!-” _Oh_. Oh, _yes_. Caleb hears his voice break off into a gasp as Molly’s finger slips further into him, finally giving him something to clench down on, and it’s good and it’s wonderful and it’s not enough, _not enough,_ he wants so much more than just this but he does not wish to rush Molly, and so this will have to do for now. He grabs at Molly’s waist, tugging him in closer, and starts stepping them back towards the couch again. He’d had plans, at the start of all this, to take Molly upstairs to his bed, to lay him out on the navy sheets and watch the flush painting his chest, and then ride him until he couldn’t see, until all he could think about was Caleb and all Caleb could think about was him. But, now, the bed seems much, much too far away. They will have time for that later. They will have time for patience, and discovery, and sex as sweet and lazy as syrup when they _haven’t_ been missing each other for weeks, and longing for each other for months.

Inside him, he can feel Molly’s finger twisting, stroking in and out in a lazy rhythm made just a little bit awkward by the angle. It makes him shiver, his whole body trembling as he mouths at the mark he had left earlier, and after a moment, he tilts his head up in a silent request for a kiss. The lips that meet his are hungry and just as needy as he feels, hot and desperate, and with every touch of their tongues and slide of their lips, the loss and loneliness of the last few weeks drift further and further away.

There is no loss anymore. There is no heartache, no heartbreak, no pain. He has Molly beneath his hands, and Molly against his lips, and he has Molly’s fingers brushing against his cunt, and it is _wonderful_.

“Mollymauk,” he murmurs, and then breaks off into a low moan when Molly’s thumb, made slick from the dampness between his legs, skims over his clit and sends a shiver of heat racing along his spine. “I- _Scheiße, Mollymauk_ \- _mehr, bitte_ , more.” More touches, more kisses, more fingers in his cunt, stroking and pressing so much better than Caleb ever could himself. He kisses Molly again, unsure if Molly even understood what he said, but barely a second later he feels a second finger press in alongside the first, and his legs just about threaten to give out.

_Couch_. They need- they need to get to the couch. It feels so good, _so good_ to have Molly’s fingers inside him like this, but trying to stand, and walk backwards, and kiss Molly and hold him and touch him _and_ grind down against his fingers all at the same time requires more effort than Caleb is willing to dedicate right now. He tugs on Molly’s waist, blindly leaning him backwards, and Molly follows without hesitation, entirely trusting as Caleb guides them towards where he knows the dining room couch is. He doesn’t know how long it takes, doesn’t care how long it takes, but after a while he feels the back of his knees bump against it, and if it weren’t for Molly’s hand still holding tight to his waist, he feels that he would have fallen. Molly’s fingers haven’t stopped moving the entire time they’ve been walking, still stroking and twisting and occasionally flicking over Caleb’s clit, making him gasp and groan against Molly’s mouth, and it seems that Molly is as loath to stop touching him as Caleb is. Caleb runs his hands across Molly’s chest, over the planes of his stomach, and at some point in their journey from the circle to the couch, he breaks away from the kiss just so that he can push Molly’s shirt up and off over his head, dropping it carelessly to the floor beside them. His entire world is nothing but Molly; Molly’s lips against his own, Molly’s chest pressing warm to his front, Molly’s fingers in his cunt, so much better than Caleb could ever have imagined.

He drops down on the couch ungracefully, tugging Molly after him. Molly gives a soft laugh against his lips, almost masked by the slick sounds of their kissing and of his fingers twisting and stroking inside Caleb, and moves to follow. He settles down astride Caleb’s thighs, a warm, heavy weight that makes Caleb groan softly, but then he shuffles in closer, and-

And this is not an angle conductive to fingering. Caleb whines when he feels Molly’s fingers slip free, his cunt suddenly clenching down around nothing. With his jeans in the way, sitting as they are, it’s nearly impossible for Molly to keep on touching him easily. Caleb frowns to himself at the realisation. He doesn’t like this. He wants to feel Molly’s fingers in his cunt again, wants to feel Molly stroking over his clit and sending warmth pulsing through him. He wants to be able to grind down against them, and he wants to be able to kiss Molly, and he wants to clench down around his fingers as he comes, as he comes because of Molly, and because of Molly’s touch.

But he can’t, because his _stupid goddamn jeans_ are still on.

“ _Scheiße_ ,” he mutters, squirming uselessly beneath Molly as he tries to shimmy his jeans and boxers off without Molly having to move away. “I- _Gott verdamnt_ , this is-”

_Pointless_ , he thinks, and with a sudden flash of inspiration he raises one hand, twists it in the air, and calls his magic back to his palm. He knows that Molly can feel it when the spell is cast – he shivers violently as the magic flashes gold, his eyes opening wide and his mouth falling lax in a soft gasp - and when the light fades they can both see Caleb’s jeans, socks, and boxers, sitting in a mound on the floor beside the couch.

“ _There_ ,” Caleb says. Thank the gods for magic, honestly. He grins up at Molly, feeling almost ridiculously proud and smug, and then feels his heart trip at the expression on Molly’s face.

If Molly had looked turned on before, that was nothing compared to now.

His cheeks are flushed even darker than they were earlier, and with his shirt now off, Caleb can see how that same flush is extended all the way down his chest, fading off just above his navel. His eyes are wide, and Caleb can actually see his chest heaving as he breathes, his breath leaving him in short whines and gasps. Molly looks pained, almost; he can’t seem to stop shifting his hips, rolling them up against Caleb’s stomach with just enough pressure that Caleb can feel the hard length of his cock pressing against him. Caleb re-settles his hands on Molly’s waist and Molly moans again when Caleb’s magic stretches back out over him, wrapping him up as if it had never left, and Caleb wants to save that sound forever.

“Oh, Molly,” he murmurs. He can see Molly’s cock straining against his pants, can see the tenting of the fabric and the dark patch where it’s leaking against them, and can’t stop himself from reaching out. It’s only fair, he feels – hell, it’s more than fair. Molly has already jerked him off, making him moan and cry out and generally get damp slick all over Molly’s hand, and he’s done very little beyond a lot of kissing in return. He settles one hand on Molly’s waist, leaning up to press kisses to Molly’s throat, and shifts his other hand to Molly’s front, starting to toy with the fastenings of his pants. “I have you, _Liebling_ , let me-”

“ _Caleb_ ,” Molly interrupts urgently. He reaches out, grabbing onto Caleb’s wrist, and Caleb falls still immediately, worry and concern coursing through him. “Caleb, love, I- I want this, I swear, but if you get those gorgeous hands of yours anywhere near my cock I’m going to come on the spot.”

…Oh.

Oh, well. Caleb can’t help but give a small, self-satisfied smile at that. It makes something warm twist in his gut, knowing that he can get Molly to this state from nothing but kisses and touches and the caress of his magic. He lets his hand fall slack and moves it to instead rest on Molly’s thigh, feeling the smooth fabric of Molly’s pants beneath his palm. It’s warm, heated by Molly’s skin and the demonic warmth of his blood, and Caleb wishes that it wasn’t there. The fabric doesn’t scratch against his bare thighs, and it definitely doesn’t feel bad, but it’s not _Molly_ , and right now what he really wants is to get Molly naked as well, and learn every plane of his body, and make him cry out beneath his tongue.

Gods, but he wants that. He has no idea how this afternoon is going to go, but he knows with absolutely certainty that he wants to make Molly come, however Molly would best like to. He wants to learn what makes Molly gasp, and what makes him whine, and what sends fire racing through his blood and lightning humming down his spine, making his toes curl in pleasure. Almost absently, Caleb licks his lips, and, as he glances up, he sees Molly mirroring the action. He watches as two forked tongues flicker over shiny, spit-slick flesh, and feels his train of thought abruptly change tracks.

Oh, _gods_. Molly repeats the action, his eyes half-hooded as he continues to give tiny, squirming rolls of his hips in Caleb’s lap, and Caleb feels his cunt throb. Oh, gods, but _yes_. Molly’s tongues had felt so, so good just when kissing – they’re strong and dextrous and not at all like anything that Caleb has ever experienced, and now, watching Molly, he suddenly can’t think of anything else.

He swallows. “I could offer you a distraction,” he suggests, and his voice is hoarse. He shifts a little on the couch, feeling himself growing wetter, and only distantly hopes that he doesn’t get any slick on the cushions. And if he does, at least he can magic it away later. “I can- _ja_ , if you would like, I can- I have a distraction in mind.”

Molly gives a breathless laugh. “ _Please_ ,” he says. “I really didn’t intend on coming this soon. What did you have in mind, love?”

No hesitation. No worrying. _Just say it_. “You could eat me out.”

On his lap, Molly freezes. Caleb tries not to switch immediately into panic, tries not to immediately worry, but it’s hard. This – all of this – is so, so new for both of them, and he doesn’t know where their boundaries lie quite yet, and he doesn’t know what’s okay and what isn’t, and he just has to hope that Molly knows him well enough to know that he can say ‘no’.

Caleb swallows. “I- I mean, only if you would like to,” he says weakly. “I do not wish to pressure you, Mollymauk, we only have to do what you feel comfortable- _mmph_ -”

Molly surges forwards, his hands scrabbling at Caleb’s waist as he kisses him suddenly, stealing the words from his lips. “ _Please_ ,” he gasps. “I- fuck, yes, _please_ , Caleb, gods and devils, I want to- _ᗄᗑ_ _⩙_ _ᖧ’Ѧ_ _ᙪᗄ_ _ᛄ_ _ᗑᘷ’_ _ᗇ,_ Caleb, _please-”_

Caleb groans. He doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of the sound of Infernal on Molly’s tongue; it always sounds so good, laced with a heat that makes him shift his hips against the couch, and it sounds even better now, when Molly’s voice is little more than whine. Caleb wonders what it would take to reduce Molly to just Infernal. He wonders how desperate Molly would have to be, how needy, how whiny, how utterly lost to his own longing he would have to be in order to speak in nothing but his native tongue.

Caleb thinks that one day, he would like to find out.

But not now. Right now, he has much, much more important things to do, like kissing Molly senseless and thinking about how those tongues would feel against his cunt.

“Caleb,” Molly asks around kisses, “shouldn’t we- your bedroom-”

Caleb breaks the kiss, leaning back even as he hears Molly give a soft, broken whine. “Mollymauk,” he says, trying not to get distracted by how shiny and kiss-swollen Molly’s lips are. “ _Liebling_ , do you really want to move right now?” He stretches up, unable to resist the look on Molly’s face, and kisses him again, quick and fleeting. “I know that I am very happy here,” he continues, absently running his hands up Molly’s thighs. “And, if I am honest, I do not want to stop touching you just so that we can move upstairs. I do not want to stop touching you for a good while yet. But if you would like to move, then-”

“ _No_ ,” Molly interrupts quickly. “No, no, I’m more than alright with having sex on the couch, love. I just- you know, I wanted to make sure that this was _good_ for you.” He shrugs, looking just a bit bashful, and Caleb can’t stop himself from smiling and stretching up to kiss Molly again, and then again after that. He feels Molly’s hands, still sticky with his own slick, pressing against his skin, feels Molly’s tail twitching and tightening around his calf, and knows, in that moment, that he would be happy just about anywhere, so long as Molly was by his side.

“Mollymauk,” he murmurs softly, and before he can even think of the words he kisses Molly again, as soft and as warm as sunlight. “Oh, Mollymauk… anywhere would be good, _Liebling_ , so long as it was with you.”

Against his lips, he hears Molly give a soft, almost surprised laugh. “Yeah?” he asks, his words little more than a whisper, and Caleb kisses him again.

“ _Ja_.” He reaches out blindly, taking one of Molly’s hands in his own and squeezing it as he meets Molly’s gaze. He doesn’t have to think about what he’s going to say next. He doesn’t have to worry about it. “I love you, Mollymauk Tealeaf. So, so much.” He lifts their conjoined hands, pressing them over his heart with only the fabric of his shirt to separate them from his skin. “I have loved you for a while, and I have adored you for longer still, and I can assure you that I really, _really_ do not care where we- where we have sex.” He can feel himself flushing at the mention of it, for all that he’s completely nude from the waist down, but he knows that Molly won’t care. He knows that Molly will understand what he’s saying, what he’s trying to say.

Molly’s smile softens and he squeezes Caleb’s hand. “I love you too,” he says, his words unexpectedly quiet. “I- I love you too, Caleb.” He pauses, and then adds, “Also, I completely agree on not wanting to move. Moving sounds _terrible_. I hope you know, by the way, that I have absolutely no intention of letting you go for, oh, _at least_ the next couple of hours.” He grins at Caleb, amusement and arousal dancing in his eyes, and Caleb laughs.

“You say that as if you think I will have a problem with it,” he replies.

“It’s always best to double check, darling.”

“Oh, _ja_ , absolutely, but I would hope that I have made my willingness clear by this point.”

“Mm, I’m not so sure. You could still just be teasing-”

“Mollymauk?”

“Yes, love?”

“Stop testing my patience and eat me out.” It feels like a bit of a gamble, phrasing his desire like that, like an order, but the moment the words leave his mouth Caleb knows that he made the right decision. Molly’s eyes go wide, his tail twitching around Caleb’s calf, and Caleb thinks he can actually feel Molly’s cock twitching where it’s still half-pressed against his stomach. He smiles. He knows that if he hadn’t left a damp spot on the couch earlier, he most certainly has now. “Come on,” he says, “move, and then put your tongues to good use.”

It’s the work of a moment for them to reposition themselves on the couch. It’s not a massive couch, not really, but it’s spacious enough for what Caleb has in mind and soon he’s leaning back against the armrest with all the novelty cat cushions kicked to the floor, Molly settled between his legs and looking for all the world like the best possible kind of wet dream. His eyes are glowing, shining like embers in the afternoon sunlight, and he’s flushed dark purple all the way down his chest, darker in spots where Caleb hadn’t been able to stop himself from leaving marks. He looks beautiful, impossible, and Caleb loves him. He loves him so, so much, to such an extent that he still can’t believe that he didn’t realise it earlier, and he reaches down unthinkingly for Molly’s hand, feeling his smile softening when Molly’s fingers slip between his own. Molly’s other hand comes to rest on his thigh, running over the thick, coarse hair, and as Caleb watches, Molly’s flush somehow darkens further.

“ _Gods_ ,” Molly groans quietly. His moves his hand, running it higher up Caleb’s thigh, and Caleb shifts his legs open a little wider, silently urging Molly to _hurry up and lick him_. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long, and Caleb is grateful for that. He doesn’t have very much patience right now, not when he has Molly, and Molly’s tongues, and Molly’s clever, wonderful fingers, so very close to his cunt.

Molly leans down, pressing a kiss to Caleb’s thigh that has him shivering, and then he bows his head as if in worship and licks a line along the length of Caleb’s cunt.

Caleb drops his head back against the arm of the couch, his eyes fluttering shut, and for a moment the sound of his low, soft moan is the only sound in existence. He feels Molly groaning against him, feels him squirming against the couch, and he tightens his hand around Molly’s almost on reflex, squeezing tightly and urging him closer against his cunt. Molly doesn’t resist in the slightest – he just groans again, the sound thrumming against Caleb, and licks over him once more, his tongues teasing at Caleb’s clit.

“ _Molly_ ,” Caleb gasps. “I- _ah, M-Molly-_ ” He breaks off into a whine, his whole back arching when Molly does something truly sinful with his tongues. He’s been on edge for a while, has been ever since Molly first got one finger inside him, and it’s almost overwhelming, this feeling of two forked tongues running and flickering between his folds. He reaches down blindly, one hand settling in Molly’s hair, and curls his fingers through the soft, purple strands. He needs something to hold onto, he feels, or he might just explode.

Molly licks over him again, and then again, and very rapidly Caleb finds himself losing track of time. The passage of time doesn’t matter, not anymore. All that matters is Molly beneath his hand and Molly’s tongues against his cunt, one flicking over his clit as the other dips inside his entrance, and it’s maddening and not enough and it’s so, so good.

“ _Ich-_ ” he gasps, “ _Ich- Scheiße- mehr, mehr, bitte_.” He needs- he needs _something_ in him, needs Molly’s fingers in his cunt like he needs oxygen. He writhes against the couch cushions, hearing his breath leave him in pants and gasps and broken moans, and feels Molly’s hand leaving his to wrap under his thigh, tugging his legs further open still as he uses the very same contact to pull himself in closer. Caleb can feel him moaning and panting against his cunt, can see his hips grinding against the couch as if seeking some sort of desperately needed friction, and the temptation to tell Molly to get rid of his pants, to tell Molly to get up here and _fuck him_ is so, so great, but the desire to come is greater still. He just needs more, needs something to clench down around, needs Molly’s fingers in him _now_.

“ _Molly,”_ he groans again, breaking off into a moan when he feels both of Molly’s tongues pressing inside, twisting and writhing until he can barely think. “I- I need- your fingers, _bitte_ \- _ah!_ ”

Gods bless Molly. Devils bless Molly. Whatever can possibly bless Mollymauk in this moment, let it bless him, because no sooner are the words out of Caleb’s mouth than Molly repositions himself on the couch, his tongues never once leaving Caleb’s cunt as he presses two fingers to Caleb’s entrance. Caleb can feel himself fluttering around them, needy and desperate, and the moment they sink in he groans again at the stretch and weight and _heat_ of them. It feels so good, so fucking good, and then Molly starts to thrust them, twisting and pressing in just the right place to make Caleb tremble and moan louder than he has since this all started, and Caleb is gone. There’s a tongue on his clit, licking relentlessly, and there’s another pressed in next to Molly’s fingers, reaching and touching where his hands cannot, and it’s so much, _so much_ , he can feel his legs starting to shake and tremble as he draws close, can feel his heart pounding and his breath coming in short gasps, and then Molly adds a third finger, and everything is _perfect_.

He feels his whole body tighten as his orgasm rises through him, his head flung back and his mouth open on a moan as he gushes over Molly’s hand and tongues, his hips still moving as if trying to keep Molly’s fingers inside him. After so, so long waiting balanced on edge it feels like fire, like lightning - he can’t think for the blinding-white pleasure of it, can’t hear himself and can’t feel anything beyond _release_ and _yes_ and _Mollymauk_.

He comes back to himself somewhat as he feels Molly slip his fingers free, unable to stop himself from giving a soft whine, but what ache and loss he feels is quickly soothed away by the touch of Molly’s tongue against his entrance. There’s still heat below his skin, there’s still warmth gathered in his gut, but it’s less urgent now. It’s less immediate. What was earlier a desperate, aching _need_ has faded somewhat, leaving Caleb feeling pleasantly loose even as he delights in the continued movement of Molly’s tongues against his cunt. It’s not much, just tiny licks lapping against his entrance, but he can hear Molly moaning softly all the same, can still see how he’s grinding against the couch in his ridiculously tight pants, and every tiny touch and every soft lick makes him give another soft gasp.

“Molly,” he murmurs. Molly makes a soft whining sound but doesn’t stop, his tail twitching around Caleb’s ankle. “ _Molly_ ,” Caleb says again, tugging gently at Molly’s hair. Molly lifts his head, making Caleb whine again at the loss of his tongues, but the moment he sets eyes on Molly’s face he knows that it was worth it. Molly looks ruined, for all that Caleb was the one lost to pleasure – his eyes are hooded and burning hot, the lower two shut entirely, and his entire mouth and jaw is damp with slick, shining gold in the afternoon sunlight. His hips are still moving, shifting like he can’t hold himself still, and even through the constraining fabric of his pants, Caleb can see how hard he is. He can see the dark patch where his cock is leaking, can see the strain in the material, and all of a sudden he wants so, so badly to get his hands on Molly’s cock.

Molly doesn’t say anything as Caleb looks at him, not at first – he just pants, his hands still resting on Caleb’s thighs, and looks over him from head to toe, his gaze lingering on where some of Caleb’s chest hair pokes out from beneath the collar of his shirt. Caleb feels Molly’s hand twitch against his legs, just for a moment, and follows his gaze.

And, really, why the fuck _is_ he still wearing his shirt? There’s no good reason to, not at all. Whatever self-consciousness he may have felt about his torso previously is entirely gone. He’s never been bothered by it, not since top surgery, and he’s already got the impression that Molly seems to quite likes his body hair, even if he doesn’t understand why. He shifts, reaching down to tug at the hem of his shirt, and then pulls it off, dropping it carelessly beside the couch.

On his thighs, Molly’s hands flex again. Caleb looks back at him, meeting his gaze, and watches Molly’s tongue darting out to lick his lips as his eyes roam greedily over Caleb’s chest, lingering on his nipples and the barely-there curves of the scars that cut across his chest. He glances at Caleb, as if seeking permission, and when Caleb nods his hands move from Caleb’s thighs to his chest, coming to rest on the hair that coats it.

Molly gives a soft, quiet little groan, and suddenly something clicks into place in Caleb’s head.

_Oh. Of course._

“Mollymauk…” Caleb starts slowly. “Do you… do you _like_ my chest hair?” He feels like he’s right, but he wants to be certain. They’ve gone far, far too long without speaking to each other, without telling each other what they actually thought and felt, and he doesn’t want that to continue. There’s a pause, just for a moment, but when Molly raises his head the look in his eyes is all the answer Caleb needs.

“Caleb,” Molly says, his voice soft and absolutely, entirely honest, “I _love_ it. We don’t have body hair in the Hells, and this is- it’s-…” He trails off, running his hand over the hair on Caleb’s chest again, and gives a soft sigh. “It’s _really fucking hot_ , honestly.”

“ _Ja_?” Caleb can’t help but preen a little. It had taken him long enough to even start testosterone and it had taken longer still for the hair to grow in. He hadn’t been overly fond of it to begin with but in a strange way he feels like he’s earned it, and to have Molly so very clearly attracted to the fuzz that covers his chest and arms and legs is more than a little reassuring.

It’s also, if he’s honest, more than a little arousing. Molly’s looking at him like he could never dream of looking away and his hands are still moving, running over Caleb’s chest like he’ll never get enough of touching him, and it makes Caleb feel hot, attractive and sexy and _wanted_ in a way that’s a little bit new for him. It’s nice, though. It’s _very_ nice. He rather likes how it feels to have Molly’s hands on his chest, and to see Molly’s chin still slick with his come, and to know that Molly wants him just as much as he wants Molly.

Gods, does he want Molly. The more he looks at Molly, the more he listens to him, the more he wants him. Caleb reaches out unthinkingly, settling his hands on Molly’s hips. The fabric of his pants is warm beneath his palms but it’s not warm enough, it’s not Molly’s skin, and Caleb wants Molly’s trousers gone yesterday.

He swallows. “Mollymauk?” he asks. Molly glances up to meet his gaze, his hands coming to a rest just below Caleb’s scars.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Can I- would it-” There’s no point in hiding his words. Not now. “If it is alright with you, Mollymauk, I would really like to see you naked.”

It’s not a surprise, not really, but Molly’s smile is still delightful to see. “Is that so?” he asks, his voice practically a purr, and Caleb shivers. _Gods_ , but he wants to hear Molly sound like that again.

“ _J-ja,”_ he replies, and then he regains his composure. “But if it is alright, Mollymauk, I would like to be the one to do it.”

Molly’s smile widens. “Caleb,” he says, “that would be more than alright with me, love.”

_Wonderful_. Caleb smiles, leaning into a kiss that Molly meets him in halfway, and slides his hands around to the front of Molly’s pants.

And then he immediately encounters a problem.

“How on- how do you get these things _off_?” he asks, tugging fruitlessly at Molly’s pants. Molly laughs breathlessly, reaching down to gently nudge Caleb’s hands away.

“I’m going to be honest,” he admits, starting to fiddle with some sort of fastening that Caleb hadn’t even noticed. “These _may_ not have been the best idea. They make my ass look absolutely fantastic but they’re an complete pain to put on, and they’re just as bad to get off.”

“So why did you _wear them_?” Caleb asks with a huff. He leans back on his elbows, watching as Molly continues to fiddle, and then, almost absently, drops his gaze to where the fabric is straining over Molly’s cock.

Molly shrugs. “As I said – they make my ass look really good. And I wanted- I know I’m very dashing and charming, but I wanted to look extra nice for you.”

“You always look nice.”

“ _Extra_ nice, love,” Molly repeats, but he’s smiling, his head half ducked as if he doesn’t quite know how to handle Caleb’s compliments. He keeps tugging at the fastenings, eventually getting one undone, but it’s a slow process, and Caleb is _impatient_. He wants Molly to feel as good as he felt. He wants to feel Molly’s cock pressing against his entrance, pressing _inside_ him. He wants Molly to come, and he wants to hear him moan, and he wants to be the cause for it.

He doesn’t want to have to wait around, and, thankfully, he has a solution for that.

He clears his throat. “Mollymauk?”

Molly glances up. “Mm?”

“Would you mind if I…” He trails off, wiggling his fingers and summoning a small twist of magic to his palm. The light of it reflects back in Molly’s eyes, shining golden and amber and ruby-red, and as Caleb watches, Molly’s hands grow still.

He swallows. “Caleb,” he asks, “are you- are you offering to, quite literally, _magic off my pants_?”

“… _Ja_?”

There’s no hesitation – Molly _groans_ , leaning forwards to press his lips to Caleb’s in a hot, burning kiss. “ _⩙_ _ᗇѨ_ _ᱡ_ ,” he moans, “I- gods and devils, Caleb, you really have no idea, do you?”

Caleb frowns. “Have no idea of _what_?” he asks, breaking the kiss just for long enough to speak.

Molly smiles at him. There’s heat in his eyes, heat and attraction and _want_ , and to have it all focused so intensely on him is almost overwhelming, but it’s overwhelming in the best possible way. “You really have no idea just how hot your magic is, do you?” Molly asks, his voice soft and fond. “Because it is, love. It’s really- it’s really _incredibly_ sexy, if I’m being honest.”

“So you are saying…”

“I’m saying that I would absolutely _love_ for you to use your magic to take my pants off, Caleb, and I will do my very best not to come when do you.”

Oh.

Well then. How can Caleb possibly do anything else now?

It’s the work of a moment for Caleb to sink his magic into the fabric of Molly’s pants and teleport them off. He can’t feel any underwear with his magic and so he doesn’t seek for it, and the moment that the spell fades, he can tell that he didn’t need to.

Kneeling between his legs is an entirely nude Mollymauk, flushed dark purple all the way down his chest with a hard, leaking, _ridged_ cock jutting out from between his legs. The moment he lays eyes on it, Caleb feels his mouth grow dry.

One day, he thinks, he would like to feel the shape of that cock in his mouth. One day, he would like to blow Molly, and trace those ridges with his tongue, and see where his cock is the most sensitive. One day, he would like to tease Molly all the way to orgasm, hearing him moan and whine and gasp, and then he would like to tell Molly to wait until he feels like he is ready to come, and see just how well Molly listens to orders.

But not now. Not today. Today, all Caleb wants is for Molly to fuck him. Today, all Caleb wants is to have Molly’s cock in his cunt, and to know how those ridges feel inside him, and to kiss Molly and hold Molly and touch Molly and just _be with Molly_ , however he can.

He wants to love Molly, and be loved in return, and here, in this moment, he knows that he is.

“Oh, _Molly,_ ” Caleb breathes, his voice wondering. “Mollymauk, you are beautiful.”

Molly grins. “Yeah?” he asks, his tone almost deceptively flippant, but Caleb knows Molly, and he can see the very real delight beneath the words. “You think so?”

“ _Ja_. You are- Mollymauk, you are stunning.” Caleb lets his gaze drop lower, coming to rest on where Molly’s cock juts from between his legs, and licks his lips. “You are _wonderful_.”

“ _Caleb_ ,” Molly says, and then, because he is still tired of waiting, Caleb leans up, and kisses Molly instead of replying. There’s little finesse to the kiss, but it’s clear that neither of them care – the moment their lips meet Molly gasps, any composure that he had been attempting to maintain dissolving immediately. He groans, his hands settling on Caleb’s sides, and Caleb hears himself almost growling, tugging Molly _closer, closer, closer_.

“ _Mollymauk_ ,” he says, his voice caught between their lips. “I- _verdammt_ , Mollymauk, I want- _Ich_ -”

“Yeah,” Molly gasps. “Mm, yeah, I- _ah_ , I know, love, me too-”

“I want to _feel you_ -”

“ _Caleb_ -”

“Want to feel you inside me-”

Molly groans, his cock rubbing against Caleb’s stomach as his hips jerk. “ _Please_ ,” he says. “I just- wait, Caleb, do you- do we need protection?”

Caleb _snarls_. “ _Ja_ ,” he grumbles. “ _Ja_ , yes, we definitely do, because you are a demon and I have _no_ idea what we could possibly pass to each other, but I do not want to-” He cuts himself short, aware of how ridiculous what he’s about to say is, but then he sees the look in Molly’s eyes and continues all the same. “I do not wish to move,” he says. “I don’t- they are all upstairs, in my- in my bedroom.”

Molly groans. “ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters. “I don’t want to move either.”

There’s a pause, and then Caleb realises that he’s being an idiot. He has _magic_. He has magic, and he just summoned a demon from an entirely different plane with no guidance sigils, and no leading components, and it _worked_.

He can summon a fucking condom.

And so he does. He holds out a hand, loath as he is to stop touching Molly for anything longer than half a second, and flexes his hand almost lazily. In comparison to summoning Molly, this is nothing. This is _easy_. There’s a flare of gold, and then he feels the cool foil of the packet landing on his palm. He doesn’t even look at it as he rips it open – he knows that it’s in date, so thankfully that doesn’t need to be checked – and glances at Molly to get his permission in the form of a nod before reaching down, taking hold of Molly’s cock, and carefully rolling the condom on.

Molly _groans_. “ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps. “I- _fuck_ , Caleb, your _hands_ -”

It’s tempting, so very, _very_ tempting to keep going. It’s so very tempting to keep touching Molly’s cock and to learn the pattern of his ridges with his hands alone, but Caleb doesn’t. He just strokes Molly’s cock a few more times with hands made slippery from magic, hearing Molly’s soft, hitching breaths, and then shuffles around on the couch to better position himself. He can see Molly watching him, red eyes glowing and hungry and wanting, and can’t help but smile and preen a little. He’s not putting on a show, not really, but it’s nice all the same to see how Molly swallows and groans when he shifts his legs open, hooking one foot around Molly’s thigh and applying just a little bit of pressure.

“Come on,” he says. He reaches out, his hand hanging in the space between them, and it’s barely there for a moment before Molly takes it, tangling their fingers together. Caleb uses the contact to pull him down, stretching up to meet him halfway for a kiss, and as he does Molly shuffles in, and Caleb feels his cock nudge against his entrance.

He groans.

“ _Mollymauk_ ,” he says softly, and kisses him again. He feels more than he hears Molly whining against his lips, feels Molly’s hips shifting and rolling, like he’s trying to hold himself still but can’t, and with his spare hand he reaches down, aligning Molly’s cock with his cunt. “Come on,” he murmurs softly. “Mollymauk, _Liebling_ , _bitte_ , I want to feel this… please…”

The ‘please’ seems to be what does it. Molly groans again, the sound sending heat directly between Caleb’s legs. “You- yeah?”

“ _Ja_ , Molly, _bitte-_ ”

And that seems to be all he needs to say, because Molly squeezes his hand, rolls his hips, and then Caleb hears himself gasp as Molly’s cock slides in. There’s little friction, and absolutely no pain – after all of Molly’s early ministrations Caleb is already aroused enough – but Molly’s cock still stretches him wonderfully. He can feel the ridges pressing against his walls, can feel the absolute perfect heat of Molly’s cock, and he doesn’t try to stop himself from groaning as he feels himself clenching down around it. Oh, _yes_. Oh, gods, but this is what he wanted. This is what he needed.

He lies back, squeezes Molly’s hand again in encouragement before letting go, and waits for Molly to move.

Molly doesn’t.

“Mollymauk?” Caleb asks when, after a few seconds, Molly still hasn’t moved. He shifts a little, stifling a soft gasp when the action makes Molly’s cock move inside him, and looks up at Molly. Molly’s eyes are shut, his mouth open as he pants softly, and with the flush painted all the way down his chest, caressing the ink of his tattoos and making every flower and twisting feather stand out brighter still, he looks almost unreal, impossible and ethereal like art come to life. He looks beautiful, and Caleb loves him so much he hardly knows what to do, and he wishes, _wishes_ that Molly would move.

He’s not going to rush him, though. He’s not going to force him.

“Molly?” he asks again, his voice soft and careful, and this time he feels Molly’s hand flex on his waist. Caleb reaches down, one hand once again finding Molly’s, and gently tangles their fingers together, giving a soft squeeze. “What is it, _Liebling_? Is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah,” Molly pants. He opens his eyes, meeting Caleb’s gaze, and gives an almost sheepish smile. “I’m just- I’m going to be honest, love, I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my entire life, and I’m very afraid that if I do anything right now, I’m going to come more or less on the spot and rather ruin your fun.”

_Oh._

Caleb’s not going to lie - hearing Molly say that, knowing that he was the cause for it, is just as much a turn-on as anything else has been so far. He smiles. “Mollymauk,” he says quietly, “take as much time as you need, _Liebling_.”

Whatever fire had been fuelling him earlier is gone now. Whatever urge had been driving them on, making everything fast and hot and needy, has faded. When Molly thrusts into him, slowly like he’s trying to hold himself back, Caleb doesn’t feel impatient. He’s already come once and he’s feeling delightfully boneless now, loose and relaxed and entirely content. He can see Molly above him, can see the line of his nose and the way the sunlight catches his jaw, shining on the eyeliner brushed across each of his lids, and as he watches Molly’s mouth fall open in a silent gasp as he thrusts in, he feels something in his heart squeeze.

“Molly,” he says softly. “Mollymauk, I-…”

“What is it?” Molly asks, slowing down. “Are you- are you alright, _⩙_ _ᗇѨ_ _ᱡ_?” The Infernal on his tongue sounds as sweet and as hot as ever. Caleb remembers hearing it beneath the stars, with Molly’s hand in his own just as it is now. He remembers thinking, back then, how he would never have this. He remembers thinking how he would never have Molly’s love, and Molly’s heart, and Molly’s lips pressed against his own.

How wonderfully, wonderfully wrong he had been.

“ _Ja_ , I am fine, I am just…” He trails off hopelessly and then reaches up, resting one hand against Molly’s cheek. Molly’s skin is soft and warm beneath his palm, so familiar that Caleb feels that he has done this all his life, and he wonders once again how this possibly took them both so long. “I am just… please, Mollymauk, kiss me.”

Molly, Gods bless him, does.

There’s no hesitation as he leans down, tilting his head just slightly to avoid bumping their noses together as he presses a kiss to Caleb’s lips. It’s soft, softer than so many of their kisses have been, and it makes Caleb’s heart burn behind his ribs, so full of love and adoration and open, honest affection that he doesn’t know what to do. He never prepared for this, not really. He never really thought about what it would mean if Molly loved him back, never thought about how it would feel. He never let himself consider, truly consider, how it would feel to tell Molly that he loves him, and hear Molly say it back, and know, know as well as he knows himself, that Molly means it.

Gods, but he loves Molly so, so much.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against Molly’s lips. Molly rolls his hips again, thrusting in at just the right angle to make Caleb see stars, and the moan that he gives and the love that he feels and every single beat of his heart is _Molly’s, Molly’s, Molly’s_. “ _Ich_ \- oh, _Liebling, mein Liebe,_ I missed you so much.”

“ _Caleb_ ,” Molly says, and Caleb squeezes his eyes tighter shut as he kisses Molly again, feeling like he could drown in the sound of his name on Molly’s lips. It sounds like warmth, like honey spun through with smoke. It sounds like home. “Caleb,” Molly says again. He squeezes Caleb’s hand, rolling his hips once more, and gasps against Caleb’s lips. “I- _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ,_ I’ve missed you too.”

“I love you-”

“I know, I know, I love you too-”

“ _Mollymauk_.” Caleb surges up, dropping the hand on Molly’s waist to support himself as he stretches up for Molly’s lips. His hand on Molly’s face moves to his hair, tangling in the soft strands and holding him close as Caleb kisses him again, and then again, over and over until he feels that, even if his memory was not what it is, he would never be able to forget the feeling of Molly’s lips against his own. He gasps softly with every thrust, feeling his core growing hot and tight, but there’s no rush this time, no urgency. He feels his orgasm building slowly, feels the lighting in his veins and the heat beneath his skin, but he doesn’t try to hurry it. When Molly reaches down, one hand finding Caleb’s clit and starting to rub in time to his thrusts, Caleb hears himself moan soft and low against Molly’s lips. “Molly,” he murmurs again. “I- _a-ah-_ ”

“ _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ,”_ Molly whispers, pressing the shape of the word to Caleb’s lips and taking the sound of his moan in exchange. “Please, please, I want to feel you-”

“ _Mollymauk_ -”

“I love you-”

“ _Ich liebe dich auch, Liebling, I-Ich- Scheiße-_ ”

Caleb pulls Molly closer, groaning against his mouth as he feels his legs start to shake. He feels pulled taught, strung as tight as a bowstring between Molly’s lips and Molly’s hand and Molly’s cock, and he grinds down to meet every slow, perfect thrust until he’s gasping, until he’s moaning, until he’s coming with the taste of Molly’s name on his lips.

He thinks he bites Molly’s lip. He’s not sure. He squeezes his eyes shut as pleasure sweeps through him, pulsing white-hot and perfect behind his eyes, and feels himself clenching down around Molly’s cock. The ridges of it in him feel almost unreal, feel so much better than anything else he’s ever experienced, and were it not for his earlier orgasm, he thinks he very well could’ve come harder than he’s ever come in his life. As it is, though, this orgasm almost feels gentler – it’s more of a surge than a wave, carrying him to his peak and then lowering him back down, leaving him utterly boneless on the couch. He reaches down, gently pushing Molly’s hand away from his now over-sensitive clit, and smiles up at him, only just starting to catch his breath.

Or, he would be catching his breath, if Molly didn’t look so damned beautiful.

Gods, but he’s always beautiful. He’s always so, so beautiful, always has been, but Caleb doesn’t think he’s ever seen Molly look as beautiful as he does now. He looks a mess, his hair sweaty and tangled, the gold liner on his eyes smudged, his lips kiss-swollen and shiny, and he looks beautiful. He looks like the most beautiful man that Caleb has ever seen, and Caleb loves him so, so much that it almost hurts.

He can still feel Molly’s fingers between his own. He squeezes gently, lifting himself up to press another kiss to Molly’s lips.

“Molly,” he murmurs softly. “ _Mein Liebe_ , Mollymauk.”

“ _Caleb_ ,” Molly replies, his voice just as low and gentle. He kisses Caleb back, his tongues only tracing briefly over Caleb’s lips before pulling away, and Caleb gives a small, content sigh. “ _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ,_ I love you...”

“I love you too,” Caleb says. The words feel easy on his tongue, as natural and as instinctive as breathing. “I love you so much, Mollymauk. So much. I- I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Molly assures him. He kisses him again, soft and careful, and it’s only then that Caleb becomes aware of just how carefully Molly is holding himself.

Or, how carefully Molly is _trying_ to hold himself.

He frowns. “Mollymauk?” he asks slowly, “have you… Mollymauk, have you _stopped_?”

“I- I don’t,” Molly starts, swallowing. Caleb can feel his hips shifting, can feel him still making tiny, half-aborted thrusts, and some part of him that apparently hasn’t realised that he just came twice feels it, and _wants_. “I don’t know- you’re human, love, and I- is this too much? Because you just- I don’t want to overstimulate you-”

Oh, _Mollymauk_.

“ _Liebling_ ,” Caleb says, his voice achingly fond. “Mollymauk, I assure you, you are _more_ than welcome to keep going.” _I want you to_.

“Are you sure?” Molly asks. Caleb can hear the hoarseness in his voice, can feel the weight and stretch of his cock, and doesn’t think he’s ever been more sure of anything in his life.

“ _Ja_ ,” he says, as firmly as he can. “Just don’t touch my clit. That _is_ sensitive.”

“Okay,” Molly replies, and behind his words Caleb can hear his breath coming shorter. “I can do that. I can- I’ll be gentle, though, I don’t want to-”

“Mollymauk?” Caleb interrupts, his voice soft.

“Y-yeah?”

Caleb pushes himself up on one elbow, trying not to gasp at the drag of Molly’s cock in him, and licks his lips before speaking right against Molly’s ear. “ _Fuck me_.”

Molly’s hips stutter. “I-,” he gasps, “I- Caleb…”

“Fuck me,” Caleb murmurs again. “I want to feel you in me, Mollymauk. I want you to fuck me, and I want to feel you come, and I- _ah- ja_ …” He breaks off into a hiss as Molly finally starts to move, and it’s so, so easy for him to wrap his legs around Molly’s waist and pull him in closer. The sudden pressure pushes Molly’s cock in further, making Molly gasp.

“ _C-Caleb_ -”

“ _Ja_ , just like that,” Caleb says, his words halfway between praise and instruction. He doesn’t feel anywhere close to orgasm but he doesn’t care – this, right now, isn’t for him. This is for Molly, to make Molly come, to make Molly feel as good as he made Caleb feel, and if he can make Molly whine and gasp and moan from his voice and words alone, well… why wouldn’t he? “Just like that, _Liebling_ , that’s it.” He hisses again as Molly starts to move faster, his thrusts already a little unstable but still growing stronger and more certain with each roll of his hips. “Mm, _ja_ , _fuck me_ , Mollymauk.”

“ _Caleb_ -”

“Come on,” Caleb urges. He kisses Molly again, hot and hard, one hand tugging on his hair. “Come on, Mollymauk. Let me feel you.”

Molly whines against his lips, his thrusts faltering as he grows close. Everything that’s around him now is _Caleb_ – his entire world is nothing more than the feeling of Caleb’s hand in his hair, Caleb’s lips against his own, Caleb’s cunt around his cock, hot and slick and so, so goddamn perfect. Caleb’s magic is still caressing his skin, wrapping around his limbs and pulsing in time to the beating of his heart, and he no longer knows where he ends and Caleb begins, no longer cares, no longer cares about anything but _Caleb, Caleb, Caleb_ -

Molly comes with a low, broken moan. To Caleb’s ears, it sounds almost like his name.

“Mollymauk,” he murmurs. His voice is almost wondering, so loving and adoring that it sounds like a prayer on his tongue. “Mollymauk…” He kisses him again, softer this time, and feels Molly’s cock pulsing in him as he comes. Molly gasps, his chest heaving, and drops his head to rest it against Caleb’s shoulder as he shudders and shakes his way through his orgasm. Caleb ducks his head, pressing kisses to Molly’s forehead and cheek and the crown of his head, wherever he can reach. He can feel Molly’s heart thundering against his chest, can feel his cock softening in him before it slips out, and he knows that he is sticky and disgusting and covered in a horrible mix of sweat and his own come, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all. He has Molly resting on him, a warm, heavy weight, and he has Molly’s hand still held in his own, and he has Molly mouthing gently at his shoulder, pressing soft, tiny kisses to it as he comes down. He squeezes Molly’s hand before letting go to brush Molly’s hair back from his face, but, to his surprise, Molly doesn’t move to get comfortable. Not immediately.

“Molly?” Caleb asks slowly, watching as Molly starts trailing his hand down Caleb’s body, slipping it between his legs. “What are you- _oh_ -”

Molly presses a finger against Caleb’s entrance, his thumb brushing over Caleb’s clit, and Caleb gasps. He’s not oversensitive anymore but somehow he’s _still_ a little on-edge, his cunt feeling horribly empty now without Molly’s cock in it. Molly’s finger slips in easily, just giving Caleb enough to clench down on, and he feels Molly press another kiss to his shoulder.

It doesn’t take long for Molly to wring another orgasm out of him. Within another handful of minutes Caleb comes again, crying out softly in the fading evening light. He doesn’t need to bat Molly’s hand away, this time – Molly withdraws his hand the moment Caleb comes, leaving him relaxed and boneless against the couch, and reaches down to wipe it absently on his pants before snuggling back in to Caleb’s chest.

“Didn’t want to leave you unsatisfied,” he murmurs. He turns his head, absently pressing a kiss to Caleb’s shoulder, and Caleb wraps his arms around him almost without thinking. He settles one hand in Molly’s hair, playing gently with the soft, sweaty strands, and places the other low on Molly’s back, holding him close against his side. He’s so warm, so absolutely, utterly content, and he knows that he’s probably in terrible need of a shower, but, for now, that can wait. He has Molly against his side, has the lingering taste of Molly’s lips on his tongue and the scent of incense and spice in his lungs, and he has waited so, so long for this. He has waited, and he has hoped, and for the longest time he thought this to be an impossibility. For the longest time, he told himself over and over again that he would never have this, that he _could_ never have this, that Molly didn’t feel for him the way that he felt about Molly, and that to force himself on Molly would be the most unthinkable evil, but now…

But now, here he is. Here he is, with Molly resting against his chest, his skin gilded in gold by the dying sunlight and his tattoos shining like jewels against his skin. Here he is, with Molly making small, contented sounds with every stroke of Caleb’s hand along his back, pressing the occasional kiss to his shoulder and actually, honestly _purring_ with delight and happiness. Here he is, with Molly in his life, in his arms, in his heart.

He loves Mollymauk. He loves Mollymauk more than he knows how to say, more than he knows how to conceptualise. He loves Molly like plants love the sun – blindly and adoringly and with no care for if Molly loves him back, but Molly _does_ , and that thought alone makes Caleb’s heart grow warm.

_Molly loves me_ , he thinks, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. He ducks his head, hiding his expression against Molly’s hair, and tightens his hold on Molly, just for a moment. Around his ankle Molly’s tail squeezes once, and then twice, stroking the skin and feeling for all the world as if it had never left. As if _Molly_ had never left. As if those three awful, _awful_ weeks were little more than a bad dream, and that Caleb had finally woken up from it to walk in the sunlight once more.

But they weren’t, and Caleb has lost Molly once already without telling him how he feels.

Never again.

_Never again_.

“Mollymauk?” Caleb asks quietly. Molly raises his head, looking at him with sleepy, bleary eyes, and gives a small hum.

“Mm?”

Caleb smiles. Everything around him is softness and half-shadow, the room growing darker as evening gathers close around them. Molly’s eyes are still glowing, just like how they had all those weeks ago beneath the stars, and Caleb feels his heart squeeze, feeling warm all the way down to his bones.

“I love you,” he says softly. The small, happy smile that Molly gives is all that he ever needs to see.

“I love you too,” Molly says, and Caleb squeezes his hand, ducks his head, and presses a kiss to his lips.


	21. Epilogue

If there’s one thing that Caleb has learned about the Nine Hells in the last year, it’s that they’re warm. Stiflingly, oppressively warm. No matter what season it is in the material plane he always makes sure to change into lighter summer clothes before opening the door to what used to be the ‘pantry of other things’ and stepping into the permanent teleportation circle carved into the floor, tugging on the magic inlain within it to transport him to Molly’s home. The snow could be a foot thick outside the house, but the moment he arrives at the other end of the circle, similarly tucked away into an unused cupboard in Molly’s house, he can feel the heat starting to hit, sinking in along his bones like he’s bathing in sunlight. It’s not unbearable, not really, but it’s much warmer than he’s used to; it’s not so warm that he drowns in sweat immediately upon arriving, and it’s not so warm that skin contact with Mollymauk becomes unbearable, but it is warm enough that he can’t imagine ever having to wear a cardigan.

Which is why, upon arriving at Molly’s house, one of the very first things that he tends to do is wander into the bedroom, tug off his shirt, and carefully fold it before putting it down on Molly’s dresser.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Molly has never complained about this. He just smiles, greets Caleb with a kiss, and occasionally Caleb will catch his gaze drifting, trailing across his chest. Caleb’s pretty sure that he’s never complained either – it’s much nicer to cuddle like this, he feels, when he can encompass Molly so entirely with his magic and feel Molly pressed right up against his skin. It’s warm, and comfortable, and Molly is a heavy weight against his side that grounds him better than fiddling with his cardigan ever has. Ever since that day a year ago, when they’d finally got their heads out of their asses and _admitted_ things, he’s become very, very fond of cuddling Molly. He’s become fond of kissing Molly, and of touching Molly, and of doing more or less anything with Molly, but he thinks that these moments, these soft, quiet, tactile moments, are some of his favourites.

He’s enjoying one of those moments today. Molly’s head is pillowed on his chest in a position that’s become as natural as breathing for them, his tail curled lazily around Caleb’s ankle as Caleb stumbles his way through a phrase in Infernal. He’s been trying to learn the language for a good while now, wanting to be able to communicate with Molly in his native tongue, and though there’s a few things that he can say quite easily now - _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ_ being first and foremost amongst them – there’s still a number that he has great difficulty with, simple as they are.

Such as this current one.

Caleb frowns up at the ceiling, one hand playing absently with Molly’s hair as he tries to get his tongue around the phrase again, and, after yet another failed attempt at the phrase, he shuts his eyes with a groan. “ _Scheiße_. This is impossible, Mollymauk.”

Molly pats Caleb’s side. “You’ll get there eventually,” he says around his smile, his words coloured by suppressed laughter, and Caleb gives a soft grumble. He drops his head back against the pillows, scratching absently at Molly’s scalp, and feels Molly’s laughter give way to a quiet purr.

“I have been trying to get this phrase right for almost a _year_ , Mollymauk,” he mutters, staring up at the ceiling. “A _year_ , _Liebling_. Just to be able to say ‘my name is Caleb’ in Infernal.”

Beneath his arm, he feels Molly shrugging. “It’s not my fault you don’t have two tongues.”

“It is not my fault that your language requires two tongues!”

“Mm, maybe not, but you did ask me to teach you.”

Caleb groans again, thumping his head against the pillow for emphasis. He can _hear_ Molly’s smirk, can picture it so easily, and around his ankle he feels Molly’s tail give a quick, fleeting squeeze. “I did,” he admits, even as he huffs out a long, dramatic sigh. “I cannot imagine what possessed me to try to learn Infernal.”

“Could it possibly have been your all-consuming, burning love for me?”

“…Alright, _ja_ , so maybe it was that.” Caleb lifts his head, shooting Molly a look that he intends to be admonishing but is certain comes out somewhere closer to smitten. “You are very tempting at times, Mollymauk, and very convincing.”

Molly looks back at him, an eyebrow raised. “Need I remind you that you _asked_ for me to teach you Infernal? Over a year ago, in fact, when I was still stuck on the material plane? You didn’t need _any_ convincing.”

“Details,” Caleb mutters. He tugs gently at Molly’s hair, guiding him up, and Molly moves easily beneath his hand, shifting up Caleb’s body until they’re face to face. “Irrelevant details, Mollymauk.” Molly smiles wider, leaning in to press their noses together.

“So you’re saying that your huge crush on me _wasn’t_ a deciding factor in asking me to teach you Infernal?” he asks, his tone light and teasing. Caleb rolls his eyes even as he feels his cheeks heating up, staining his face and the tips of his ears red. Even now, a year on since they first stopped being idiots and told each other how they feel, he still gets embarrassed about how entirely blind he was to Molly’s feelings, and to his own. They could have been doing this, _all_ of this, so much sooner, if only they hadn’t both been so afraid.

“…It may have been a _slight_ contributing factor,” he says eventually, looking away as best he can when Molly is literally two inches from his face. “You- you sound very nice when you speak Infernal, Mollymauk. You know that I think that.”

“Mm, I do know that,” Molly says. “You make it very clear every time we fu-”

“Look, are you going to help me pronounce this correctly or not?” Caleb interrupts quickly. He wouldn’t be surprised if the colour of his hair was now clashing terribly with the colour of his skin, if he looks even slightly as red as he feels. “I am – stop laughing at me, Mollymauk – I am trying my best here, I assure you.”

“I wasn’t laughing, I was giggling.”

“They are the _same thing_.”

“They have different words.”

“They are the _same word_ in Infernal, Mollymauk.”

“Shh,” Molly says. He grins, pressing a quick kiss to Caleb’s nose, and then sits up a little, looking down at Caleb with a smile. “Details, love.”

“You are a _menace_ ,” Caleb says, but he can’t keep the fondness out of his voice. “You are a menace, and a- and a twister of words. You are as demonic as they come, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

Molly’s grin widens. “You love me, though.”

Caleb sighs. “I do,” he admits. “Gods know why, but I do. I love you enough to learn this impossible language for you.”

“It’s not impossible, love. You’re getting there with it.”

“ _Ja_ , so long as the phrase doesn’t have that- that two-tongued character in it.”

“You’re getting better every time you say it, though. Go on,” Molly says softly, “try it again.”

Caleb huffs out a breath. “Alright,” he says quietly, and then he says it again, louder and more determined. “ _Alright_. I will- _ja_ , I will do this.”

“I’m sure you will, _ᏍѦ_ _ᚱѦ’_ _ᖨᗇ_.” Molly leans in, pressing a quick kiss to Caleb’s lips, and then settles back down, his head on Caleb’s shoulder.

Caleb swallows. “ _ᖨ_ -,” he starts, and then immediately cuts himself off. “ _ᖨ_ _ᚣ_ \- _Scheisse_.” He groans, shutting his eyes. “It is always that bit of it,” he grumbles. “That- the- the _ᚣ_ character, I cannot say it.”

“Two tongues,” Molly murmurs. “That’s why yours always just sounds like ‘s’.” He lifts his head, looking up at Caleb, and gives him a soft, reassuring smile. “It doesn’t sound _bad_ , though, dear heart. It just sounds like you have an accent. And you can say the rest of it.”

Caleb smiles. He can’t help it, not when Molly is looking at him like that, like he’s the best and most wonderful thing that Molly has ever seen. Molly’s praise sparks something warm in his chest, too, making him smile wider. That, what Molly just said – that is true, he supposes. He _can_ say the rest of the phrase, and he can apparently say it very well.

He clears his throat. “ _ᖨ_ _ᛮѨ_ _ᘸ_ _ᘾ’_ _ᙪ_ _ᚾ_ _ᖧ,_ ” he says, and Molly immediately rewards him with a kiss to his shoulder.

“You see?” he asks. “You’re doing just fine, love. Just- you really don’t need to worry so much about _ᚣ,_ alright? I’ve told you this before. You sound lovely when you speak Infernal anyway.”

“You’re biased.”

“Are you complaining?”

“… _Nein_.”

Caleb can’t see it, but once again he can imagine Molly’s grin. “Mm, good. You better not be. We agreed a while ago that I’m allowed to compliment you as much as I like, and I intend to do exactly that.”

“You are much too good for me, Mollymauk.”

“On the contrary, love, I don’t think I’m good enough.” Molly turns his head, kissing Caleb’s neck, and then presses a following kiss to his jaw. “Now go on. Try it again. You’re doing just fine.”

Well. He can hardly ignore Molly’s encouragement.

“ _ᖨ_ _ᚣ-_ _ᖨ_ _ᚣᚾ -_ _ᖨ_ _ᚣᚾᚣ’_ _ᗖᖨ_ _ᖨ_ _ᛮѨ_ _ᘸ_ _ᘾ’_ _ᙪ_ _ᚾ_ _ᖧ,_ ” he manages, and immediately wrinkles his nose. It hadn’t sounded _bad_ , he supposes, but it hadn’t sounded nearly as smooth and flowing as when Molly says it. But then again, Molly’s Zemnian doesn’t sound as fluent as Caleb’s does, and Caleb loves it all the same. He supposes it might be similar for Molly. “Was that- was that okay? Did that sound alright?”

“That was _wonderful_ , love,” Molly says. His delight is audible in his voice but Caleb frowns all the same. He doesn’t want it to be _wonderful_. He wants it to be _perfect_. He wants to be able to speak Infernal as easily and as smoothly as Molly does, wants to be able to speak it against his lips and murmur it against his skin. He wants to tell Molly that he loves him in his own language, wants to tell Molly how much he means to him, and for that, it needs to be perfect.

Caleb hums. “I- I do not know, Mollymauk, I-”

“ _Caleb_.” Molly sighs, pushing himself upright so that he can look down at his boyfriend. “ _Dear heart_. You’re doing just fine.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to Caleb’s lips, and Caleb returns it without thinking, the action smooth and easy as if he’s done it a hundred, a thousand times before, because he _has_ done it a thousand times before. It hadn’t taken him long to lose track of how many times he’d kissed Molly, but he knows that it’s more times than he can count. He loves kissing Molly. He loves kissing Molly in the morning when he’s all soft and sleep-rumpled, his hair a mess across the pillows and his tail lax around Caleb’s ankle, grumbling softly even as he turns his head to kiss Caleb back. He loves kissing Molly in passing, pressing a fleeting kiss to his cheek when walking by him in the hallway or moving past him in the kitchen, and hearing him laugh in surprise and delight. He loves kissing Molly leisurely, lazily, all slow and sweet and warm beneath the skin, his hands on Molly’s waist and Molly’s hands against his hips. Every kiss that Molly gives him is one that he savours, one that he treasures, and every kiss that he gives back is another quiet indication of how much he loves Molly.

Gods, but he loves Molly so much.

He kisses Molly back, opening his mouth to speak, to explain why his Infernal was sub-par, but before he can even start to explain Molly kisses him again, and then again after that. Caleb knows that he could reply, knows that he could very easily speak up, but Molly’s kisses are addictive and sweet and it’s so, so easy to lose himself to them, and so he does.

Eventually, Molly leans back, his tongues absently darting out to lick over his lips. “See?” he murmurs. “You’re doing just fine.” His eyes are half-shut, his voice soft and low, and before he can even lean in to press another kiss to Caleb’s lips Caleb beats him to it, leaning up to meet him halfway. He kisses him and then kisses him again, feeling Molly’s hands running through his chest hair and over his scars.

“Insatiable,” he mumbles, and feels Molly laugh quietly against his lips.

“Says you.”

“Mm.” He kisses Molly again. It seems like the best thing to do. “Mm, maybe so, but-”

“Caleb?”

“Mm?”

“Less talking and more kissing, love.”

Caleb smiles. He can do that. He can definitely do that. He sits up a little more, his free hand raising to settle on Molly’s waist, and after a few more minutes of slow, lazy kissing, he shifts, flipping them so that Molly is beneath him. Molly gives a little giggle against his lips, his tail squeezing Caleb’s ankle again, and Caleb starts pressing a constellation of kisses to his lips, his jaw, the column of his throat, hearing Molly making small, appreciative sounds beneath him as he kisses across the curve of his collarbone and-

Oh, _fuck_.

He forgot. How the fuck did he forget? He’s been planning this for weeks, almost for _months_ , and yet the one thing, _the one thing_ he’d been meaning to bring with him he’d somehow completely forgotten. Well, not forgotten, not with his memory, but it had absolutely slipped his mind. This was meant to be a gift, a surprise, a lovely treat to Mollymauk, _his_ Mollymauk, to apologise for waiting for so long in the first place and to remind him of that first moment when they both knew.

This was special. It was _important_.

And Caleb had fucked it up. He frowns at the spot on Molly’s chest, just beneath his collarbones, where a pendant in the shape of the constellation Orion _isn’t_ resting.

“Caleb?” Molly murmurs, sounding confused as the silence continues to grow. “You alright, love?”

“I-” Caleb starts. “I- _ja_ , I am, I just…”

“What?”

“I forgot something,” he mutters, sitting up. “I was- I meant to bring something with me…”

Molly pushes himself up onto his elbows, raising a curious eyebrow. “Oh? What was it?”

“It was- it was a gift, for you,” Caleb says. “For our anniversary.” He glances quickly over to the little table by his side of the bed, hoping against all logic to see the little jewellery box there, but he doesn’t. _Damn_. “I was- I must have, _Scheiße_ , I must have left it at home.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright. We can just head back and get it.”

“But this was _important_ ,” Caleb insists, sitting up entirely now as a worried frown starts to furrow his brow. “It was- this is our first anniversary, Mollymauk. I wanted to- I- I wanted to get you something special, _Liebling._ But instead I- instead, I left it at home like an _idiot_.”

Molly reaches out, taking Caleb’s face between his hands. Caleb falls still immediately, giving a little sigh as Molly’s fingers start running through his hair, and feels Molly press a kiss to his forehead. “Caleb,” Molly says, his voice warm. “It’s fine. Really, love, it is. We can just pop over to yours and get it, okay? And then there’s no harm done.”

“But it was important,” Caleb says again but his voice is quieter, his worry fading in the face of Molly’s reassurance. “It was- it-”

“Caleb. I do not love you any less for forgetting this, darling.” Molly leans forwards, pressing their foreheads together as his tail squeezes at Caleb’s ankle. “I’m touched enough that you thought to get me something, honestly. So how about we head back, pick up whatever it is that you got me – which, by the way, I am already _extremely_ excited about - and then we get back to kissing? Sound good?”

It does sound good. It sounds really, really good, because there are few things in this plane or any other that Caleb likes as much as he likes kissing Molly, but at the same time he doesn’t want to inconvenience Molly. He wants Molly to be content, and comfortable, and not have to undergo the somewhat unpleasant experience that is being transported from one plane to another.

“You do not… you do not have to come with me,” Caleb says weakly. “If you would be more comfortable here, I do not want to- this was my mistake-”

“No, no, it’s alright, I’ll tag along with you,” Molly says breezily. “Really, it was meant to be my turn to visit several nights ago - I need to make sure that Frumpkin hasn’t forgotten who I am.”

“You saw Frumpkin six days ago.”

“And that’s a long time! He’s a busy cat! I need to make sure that I’m still important to him!”

“He purrs every time he sees you now, Mollymauk. He has ever since you started bringing him treats.”

“Well, you know what they say. ‘The way to a cat’s heart is through his stomach’,” Molly says casually, standing with a stretch and heading to the door of his bedroom. He grabs Caleb’s shirt as he passes it, throwing it back to Caleb, and Caleb tugs it on before joining him. As he’s learned from a number of poorly-timed encounters, Nott and Beau are _not_ particularly fond of encountering him shirtless, with his chest and shoulders patterned with the hickeys that Molly has become so fond of leaving. He follows Molly out into the hallway of his home, trailing him to a small door tucked away in a corner. There’s a bright yellow post-it note stuck to it. The post-it reads ‘Pantry of Caleb :)’.

It doesn’t take long for Caleb to teleport them back to the material plane. The transportation circle that he set up a year or so ago is pre-charged, waiting only for a magical trigger to send them from one plane to another, and within a few seconds they’re stepping out of the pantry of other things and into the hallway of Caleb’s home, the glow of Caleb’s magic fading behind them.

Molly shakes his head as they leave the cupboard, pulling a face. “Ugh,” he grumbles. “You know, I still really don’t like that feeling. It makes me feel like I’ve just dunked my head in ice.”

“I know, _Liebling_ ,” Caleb replies, in the long-suffering but still loving tones of someone who has heard this complaint numerous times before. “I am working on improving the transportation process. You know this.”

“I do, and I love you even more for it, but I’m still going to complain about the transportation. That’s my right as your boyfriend.” He grins at Caleb, very clearly delighted with himself, and Caleb rolls his eyes even as he feels himself starting to smile. “But anyway, where was this marvellous gift you said you had got me?”

Caleb smiles wider, reaching out to take Molly’s hand. “It is in my office,” he says, inclining his head down the corridor in the direction of the room. “Come on.” He pushes the door shut behind him (a very important action indeed, ever since the time when he’d opened the cupboard at Molly’s end to encounter a very confused Frumpkin), and starts leading the way down the hallway. He hears a voice from the dining room as he passes it but pays it no heed. Beau’s been focusing more on her own growing magical abilities in the last few months, and it hadn’t taken anyone in the house long to realise her tendency to mutter to herself as she works. “Come on, Molly, I am-”

From the dining room, there comes a sudden, sharp flare of blue and gold light. Caleb shivers as he feels the magic rushing over him, pressing against his body like a bruise before it lifts with a gust of silver.

Next to him, Molly freezes. “That… what was that-”

“ _Shit!”_

There’s an abrupt sound of shattering porcelain. Caleb looks up at Molly, pausing for just a second, and then starts walking purposefully towards the archway leading into the dining room, Molly following in his wake. That was Beau’s voice. Whatever’s in the dining room, whatever she summoned, it sounds like she needs his help, and Caleb knows that he is more than competent enough to banish pretty much _anything_. He banished Molly, difficult as it had been. Hells, he _summoned_ Molly again without any of the proper components or sigils! He knows his strength, and he knows his power, and he knows that if Beau needs his help then he will be more than willing to provide it. He can already feel his magic twisting and gathering beneath his skin, ready to confront and calm whatever beast it was that Beauregard had accidentally summoned, but he barely steps foot inside the dining room before it fizzles out at the sight of the tableau before him.

It’s a familiar one, in a strange sort of way. It’s familiar in that he has absolutely, undeniably, definitely been in this situation before, but it’s strange in that, this time, he is on the outside looking in.

At one end of the room, just leaving the kitchen, is Beau, with the remnants of a dropped and shattered mug still spinning at her feet amongst a pool of steaming tea. In the summoning circle chalked onto the tarpaulin there stands a demon; tall, well-muscled, with long dark hair that fades to white at the end, dressed in a grey, tunic-like shirt.

Next to him, Caleb hears Molly draw in a sharp breath.

“Yasha?” he asks.

Yasha looks up and over to the archway, her eyes widening as she takes in Caleb and Molly. “Molly?” she replies.

“ _Caleb_ ,” Beau says, looking hopelessly at Caleb.

Caleb sighs, lifts a hand to his forehead, and rubs at his temples. “ _Scheiße_ ,” he mutters. “Not this nonsense.”

Unseen by anyone, off at the far end of the room, Frumpkin brushes the last of the chalk dust off his paw, licks himself clean, and then pads silently towards the hallway. What a shame it was that he had accidentally messed up a summoning circle.

Again.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, Twine draws to an end. Thank you so much to everyone who read this, whether you’ve been here from the start, joined part-way through, or are only reading now that it’s done! Some of you know that I was writing and posting this during my final year of uni, but what most of you _don’t_ know is that this last year has been really, really tough, both academically and mentally. Seeing all your lovely comments on each new chapter has really encouraged and motivated me to keep going and keep working, so thank you <3 If you feel like it, I would absolutely love it if you could comment with your favourite scene or moment in this fic x
> 
> I’ve also already decided on my next Big Fic! It’s going to be called _The Mycelium Effect_ \- it’s a modern AU (because I really can’t write anything else, can I?), Clayleb fic set in a natural history museum. I’m going to aim to have the first chapter posted on **June 10th** but please don’t hold me to that. I hope at least a couple of you decide to try it out when I get round to posting ^-^
> 
> Once again, thank you all so much for reading. I really hope you’ve enjoyed this as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.
> 
> \- Crunchy x
> 
> P.S As promised, [here’s](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_PIHrguOuxhLdHr7Psx5jXjQZVr3QKnb0rKyCK2I_Lc/edit?usp=sharing) an Infernal dictionary and pronunciation guide for you, and as always the gorgeous art in this chapter was done by the wonderful [Heidi](https://twitter.com/heidzdraws)!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my two wonderful betas, Eileen and Code! My love and thanks to you both are endless <3
> 
> Fic comments are always welcome and help to fuel the motivation! Or, if you'd like to talk to me elsewhere, please feel welcome to message me at my [tumblr](https://crunchywrites.tumblr.com/) or come and chat in my discord server (please message me on tumblr for an invite link ^-^)! I also have a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/crunchywrites)!


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